Hot Spot (26 page)

"Do you like Gorky's
Sketches and Stories
?"

"My favorite."

"No shit." The phrase was only half spoken, as though he were thinking out loud. And then he seemed to find himself again and added, "I like Chekhov, too."

"What I like at the moment is more physical than cerebral."

"Then we're on the same page, babe."

"Just checking," she said with a grin, tossing the book on the built-in dresser and pulling her T-shirt over her head.

Nice bra. Some kind of green lace.
Great
breasts. There go the shorts. Whatever his reservations might have been about Stella Scott, they were no longer relevant. Time enough later to deal with possible intrigues and computer theft. Right now, he was going to screw his brains out.

"Wow."

He looked up from pulling his shirt over his head to find Stella running her hand over the sheets.

"These are
not
made in America," she said. "Italian or French."

He liked the American babe leaning over the bed, her breasts hanging like plump fruit, her blond bush getting his Made-in-America stamp of approval. "Buddy had a decorator. She went to Italy to get whatever she had to get. Those for one thing, I'd guess." His shorts and boxers slid to the floor.

"Nüüice… Frette." She held a pillowcase label between her thumb and forefinger.

He'd have to get new sheets, he thought. They seemed to turn her on. His tastes were more simple. Lush cunt like that in close proximity. What more did a man need? Walking up behind her, he slid his hands around her waist and slipped his cock between her legs. "While you're getting high on those sheets, I'll see if we still fit."

There was something in his tone—the not asking—that sent a quiver through her cunt. "No, don't," she said in a low, teasing contralto. "I changed my mind."

"But I want to," he murmured, picking up as though he might have been in this game once or twice before and he knew how to improvise. His finger tightened on her waist. "I've driven a long way to see you."

"Not to see me, to have sex."

She was rubbing her slit along his cock in a enticing slow rhythm, so he was guessing words and actions were antithetical. "Why else would I come this far?"

"I thought maybe we could read Gorky together."

He smiled faintly. "You read, and I'll fuck you. That way we'll both get what we want."

"Such bluntness might not get you laid."

"With a cunt this wet, I'm guessing I'll be getting it one way or another." His erection slid back and forth with frictionless ease, her sleek labia plump and swollen.

"Maybe I'd prefer reading my book."

"Gorky's
Lost Souls'
? Try again. You like to fuck too much to turn it down." He slipped a finger along her labia and found her clit. Her own little dick was more than ready—engorged and prominent. He'd bet a thousand her G-spot was ready for action, too.

"Don't do that." But her voice was breathy with need.

He'd say the game was about over. She was ready to move on to the real thing. Her palms were braced on the bed, her bottom lifted high, and she was swinging her tush faintly, begging for surcease. Or enticing him like a temptress might.

"Are you a cock tease? I'm not sure I like that," he said, in a mock brusque tone. And for a disconcerting moment he really meant it, picturing her doing this as readily with one of those other guys he'd seen in her sketches. Quickly quashing that useless mind-fuck, he reminded himself that sex was sex, like a rose is a rose is a rose. It wasn't complicated.

"I'm sorry." She'd gone still at his harsh tone. "I didn't mean to offend you." Impatient, throbbing, feverish with desire, instant gratification a real necessity, she turned her head and met his gaze. "Please… do me a favor. I'm done playing…"

Her eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, her tawny hair tumbled around her face, her cheeks flushed. And suddenly he got the impression she didn't care who it was as long as she got what she wanted. That she'd become an insatiable hunger in his gut unnerved him, that he didn't have more self-control was disconcerting for a man who had always been able to take it or leave it. He found himself viewing her hair-trigger readiness for cock anytime, anywhere with a chafing resentment. Trying to ignore his sudden intolerance for females who were ape-shit for sex, he told himself it didn't matter so long as he got off. And if Stella hadn't feverishly pleaded, "For God's sake, McKean, hurry!" he wouldn't have jerked back and stood up.

"This is a fucking mistake." He reached for his shorts, pissed as hell he'd come after her.

"Don't you dare, dammit!" Swinging upright, she slammed her fist into his back.

Scowling, he turned around, his shorts in his hand. "The name's Rees, in case you forgot."

"I know that." She was breathing hard. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You called me McKean."

"Sorry. That's Marky B's new sidekick who looks like you."

"Sure it is. Look, I shouldn't have come." But he had, like a dog in heat, he thought, bending over to put on his shorts.

"Let's get one thing clear," she snapped, stalking past him to the door. "You came here. I didn't go looking for you." Taking the key from the lock, she tossed it into the minuscule bathroom. "You were the one who wanted a fuck. I was reading my book, eating cake, and in general getting along just fine. So if you think you're going to prick tease
me
and walk away, you've got another think coming!"

He was standing upright again, his gaze as heated as hers. "What the fuck are you going to do about it?"

"Use that briefly," she said, pointing at his erection.

"Not likely. Get out of my way." The key was in the bathroom. He needed it.

She didn't move. She didn't so much as flinch.

Some people really got bent out of shape if they didn't get laid
, he thought, about to push past her.

There was no way she was going to win this shoving match. "If you leave, I'll open that porthole and scream embarrassing things about you to everyone on the beach. Like the size of your dick, for starters, and I might lie."

He glared at her. "Like hell you will."

"Watch me."

He caught her just short of the porthole. Not that embarrassment was a major issue, but there were tons of families on the beach. He spun her around, pressed her hard against the wall, and said through gritted teeth, "I don't fuck on demand."

"Then call it something else," she hissed.

He decided the fastest way out of here was through her cunt. Like a shot, he hoisted her off her feet, pushed her against the wall, held her there with his forearm, and guiding his cock into her slippery warmth, rammed upward with such force she slid up the wall another six inches.

It was a manifestly contentious act.

Sex reduced to a slam-bang.

But no one was taking sensitivity ratings.

He pumped his legs like a pile driver.

She whimpered and gasped, her arms viselike on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist.

It was a welcome of sorts—an animal rutting, rank horniness assuaged, and she rained kisses of gratitude on his cheek and temples, uttering little blissful sighs each time he was buried to the hilt. She came almost immediately like she did and then over and over and over again.

He should have stopped the first time she climaxed.

If she wasn't the damned sorceress of his soul he might have.

If his cock didn't feel like a fucking lightning rod to every quivering nerve in his body he might have.

If he wasn't proposing to be satyr to her nymphomania, it might have been a possibility.

As it was, he'd seriously decided—
change of plans
.

When he finally came, he ejaculated so violently he forgot where he was for a moment. But then he felt her smile on his face and heard her whispered thank yous and understood he was in some hellish paradise.

And screwed up as that was, he planned to stay a while.

"Hey." A sweet as honey whisper.

He lifted his head and smiled. "Hey."

"I'm glad you stayed," she breathed.

"I'm glad you made me."

"Did I really?"

Her gaze was beguiling. "Sure," he lied.

"Good. Then if you're not mad, I can tell you, I'm dripping all over Buddy's carpet."

Swinging her around, he moved a few steps. "Drip on his bed," Danny said with a grin and deposited her on the center of those sheets she liked.

She didn't speak, not sure what to say, not sure he'd stay. And she'd given enough orders today as it was—not that they hadn't worked out really well—orgasm-wise. But currently removed from the throes of insane lust, she found herself uncomfortable making demands.

Grabbing a couple towels from the bathroom, Danny tossed one in her direction and dropped into a sprawl beside her on the bed. Wiping himself off, he threw the towel into the bathroom, laced his arms under his head, and exhaled softly. "That was damned good. Let me know when you need me again."

She felt like throwing her arms around him and hugging him to death, but after that casual statement, he probably wasn't looking for any heartfelt declarations. "Pretty soon, probably." Was that indifferent enough to allay any male concerns apropos emotionalism?

He turned to look at her and smiled. "There's something about you," he said.

That same prosaic tone, although his smile was—dare she think—affectionate? Not if she was smart, she wouldn't. Danny Rees wasn't into affection. "There's something about you, too, and I can measure it with a ruler."

He chuckled. "Come here." Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms and gently kissed her.

It surprised her—the tenderness. But not as much as his next words. "You remind me of my sister." At her puzzled look, he continued, "Don't get worried, I'm not a pervert. I mean taking what you want in life, going for broke. Libby has that same kind of gutsy outlook."

She smiled. "That's Marky B. I'm really a pushover."

His brows did one of those quick up and down things. "You coulda fooled me."

"Yeah, well… you can give orders next time."

"Swear to God?" He laughed at the sudden apprehension in her gaze. "Just teasing. I was thinking maybe I'd nibble my way down your body from top to bottom and see if you can come with just tongue."

"I can't."

"Maybe today you can."

"Don't sound so damned certain." He wasn't the only one who thought about how many there may have been before.

But maybe he had reason to sound certain.

It turned out he did.

She'd have to remember the date, like those other milestones in her life: her first orgasm masturbating; her first orgasm with someone else involved; graduating high school and college; making fudge from scratch. You know, stuff like that.

It got real hot temperature-wise and body-wise in that small stateroom. Danny opened both portholes, and that helped the room. As for their insatiable sexual appetites, they finally cooled off in the shower.

MUCH LATER, WHEN the bonfire was blazing on the beach and Stella was resting on Danny's chest in the stateroom, his cell phone rang.

"Answer it," she murmured.

"Nah."

"Maybe it's your sister."

Not likely, but he was feeling too mellow to argue. Stretching down, he grabbed his shorts from the floor, slid his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at the caller ID. Frank Stanchfield. Easing her off him, he sat up against the headboard and flipped open the phone. "Rees here."

"I forgot to tell you a couple things. I checked on the lady at the comic book store. She inherited a moderate amount of stock in Electronic Arts, Inc. I don't know how that impacts your company—whether they're direct competitors or not. But I thought you should know. Also, her mother is a close friend with a psychic who has a website sponsored by Wizards of the Coast. That's it. Take it for what if's worth."

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later." Flipping the phone shut, he set it on the dresser.

"Anyone I know?"

"Nope."

"Not your sister."

"No. Some business. It can wait."

Was it one of his drug contacts? Didn't drug dealers do more business on the weekends? Is that why he said he'd talk to him later? Shit. Just when she'd been lulled into forgetting he was more or less unemployed. "Was it about your video game?" She was hoping he'd say yes. Even if it was superweird to get a business call on a Saturday night.

"Why do you ask?" Damn, he wished she hadn't said that.

"No reason."

"It wasn't. It was a friend of a friend. Nothing that can't wait."

"My mom knows a lady who works for a video game company—or is sort of involved," she murmured. "Have you heard of Wizards of the Coast?"

Christ, why was she asking about Wizards? "It sounds vaguely familiar." As in two minutes ago familiar.

Shouldn't he know the names of video game companies if he was really in the business? "What's the name of your game?"

She probably knew already if she'd broken into his house twice. Should he answer truthfully or not? Either way, it might fuck up his plans for the night. Which involved screwing until he couldn't move. "I was thinking you haven't come for at least five minutes," he whispered, rolling on his side and easing a finger into her pouty, swollen cunt. "What'd you say?"

Maybe she could worry about good and evil later. Maybe right now, the goodness part would be more satisfying. "I'd say that feels… glorious…"