Catch a Mate Page 24

  Oh, he knew she lied, but he wasn’t upset. He realized in that moment that she’d never told anyone about her fantasies. Never admitted them aloud. He liked the thought of being the first to hear them. The first to do what she really, secretly wanted. “I know you like it rough and hard.”

  “I do not!” Now she sounded scandalized.

  And maybe, he thought, she liked it a little painful so she wouldn’t have to deal with tenderness. She wouldn’t have to feel softer emotions. That’s what he’d been doing, he realized with shock. Numbing himself to everything but pleasure. No emotion.

  “You do,” he said, “and I do, too. I didn’t know that until I met you.” But this time, he wanted tender. He wanted soft. He did want to feel. “What else do you like?” He cupped her breast and tweaked her nipple through her shirt. “You can tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, panting now.

  “Tell me. I just might do it.”

  “Tell me yours,” she hedged.

  He brought his other hand into play, cupping both of her breasts but no longer touching her nipples. He dabbled his fingertips around them, making her twist and turn and anticipate his touch.

  “Men are easy. We fantasize about making our woman come.”

  “Uh-uh.” She shook her head, black curls flying. “Men fantasize about having two women at once.”

  “You’re all I can handle. Tell me,” he beseeched. “Tell me what you’ve always wanted a lover to do but have never gotten.”

  She hesitated, unsure. So sweetly unsure. “You’ll laugh.”

  “Swear to God, I won’t.” He had to hear now. His curiosity was almost as strong as his desire for her. What was making this strong, independent woman so nervous?

  “I’ve never…no one has ever…kissed me. There.”

  Understanding hit him. He felt his lips begin to curl into a smile, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. Oh, to taste between her legs. He would be the first to do so. More hot, hot blood swelled his cock.

  He leaned into her and pressed a kiss into her mouth. Her tongue instantly swept out to meet his. They thrust together, her sweet taste rocketing his desire to a new level. He rocked his erection against her, had to remind himself to breathe, and swallowed her pleasured groan.

  Before the night was over, he was going to take this woman in every way imaginable. He was going to make her come with his mouth, with his fingers, with his penis. Tomorrow, she’d have to find a new fantasy. Tonight, he’d give her this one. And, hopefully, a thousand others she hadn’t known she possessed.

  “Well?” Jillian asked.

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  “You aren’t…you won’t mind doing that?”

  “Mind? I’ll love every moment of it. So will you,” he said. And then he was kissing her again.

  Sweet fire, Jillian thought as she feasted on Marcus’s mouth. Her body was on fire for him. She’d stopped thinking about her dad and his impending marriage. She’d stopped thinking about the consequences of sleeping with her boss, the man she thought she hated but couldn’t stop picturing naked, a long time ago.

  Right now, he was merely a man and she was merely a woman and only pleasure existed.

  He stopped kissing her long enough to work her shirt over her head; then his tongue was in her mouth again and the fire in her blood was growing hotter. Blazing. An inferno.

  His fingers worked the back clasp of her bra expertly, freeing her breasts. He meshed his chest into hers and she loved the way her nipples abraded him. The friction was delicious.

  “Heaven,” he said. The kiss picked up speed and intensity and their teeth banged together as they strained for closer contact.

  She was still a little embarrassed that he knew her most private fantasy, something she’d always wanted to experience but never had. Would he actually do it as he’d claimed? Just the possibility excited her, made her shiver. She’d never had the courage to ask another man, but the thought of Marcus’s hot tongue flicking against her…“Oh, God.”

  “Pretty nipples.” He jerked her to her feet and worked at her jeans. He had them at her ankles in two seconds flat, leaving her in her underwear, a strip of ice-blue lace.

  When she began working at his pants, he stopped her, pulled a condom from his pocket, then motioned for her to continue. She did. He was bare underneath, and his penis jutted forward, long and thick and ready. “You didn’t wear briefs and you brought condoms. Do I give off that easy a vibe?”

  “No, but I’m that hopeful a guy,” he said and ripped her panties off.

  Cool air kissed the heat between her legs.

  After he rolled on the condom, he cupped her butt and hefted her up. Not onto the counter this time, but on him. Not yet penetrating, though. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  She tried not to let her disappointment show. He wasn’t going to grant her wildest fantasy, after all. Should she say something? Ask him why he’d demanded to know, told her he’d love it, if he hadn’t planned to see it through?

  Not wanting to force the issue, she wrapped her legs around his waist without comment. But he didn’t enter her as she’d expected. No, he carried her toward the back door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

  “You have a fantasy. I have one, too.” He didn’t slow his steady gait.

  What? Outdoors? “But you said men only wanted to make their women come.”

  “That’s true.” He used one hand to open the wooden door, then kicked open the screen and stepped into the cool evening air. Muted beams of sunlight ribboned all around them; birds chirped happily. “But the little details always change. Like location.”

  She gripped him tight, holding on as her heart began an erratic dance. “People will be able to see us,” she whispered, scandalized. The waning sunlight suddenly seemed like a laser beam, a spotlight. “I only have a chain fence.”

  “I know. But it’s dark…almost.”

  “Go back inside, Marcus. Right now.” He was naked. She was naked.

  “Are any of your neighbors children?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think I should stay where I am. I can feel how fast your heart is beating. You don’t want me to go inside, do you? Not really.”

  Well…Her gaze circled both of her neighbors’ yards. No one was out back. And if luck was on her side, Mrs. Franklin would stay put out front! And yet, underneath her embarrassment, she was excited. Anyone could see, anytime. See everything. See the pleasure.

  “Someone could be watching from their window,” Marcus purred.

  A tremor trekked the length of her spine.

  He laughed. “I knew it. You, Jillian Greene, are kinky.” He tossed her onto the lounge chair she’d placed under the large oak. Its swaying branches dripped emerald leaves, creating a canopy around the chair. The zoom of cars drifted from beyond the house.

  He sat at the end and pried her knees far apart. For a long while, he didn’t move, just looked at her. “So pretty. So wet.”

  She gripped the arms of the lounge. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  He grinned wickedly. “Deciding where to lick first.”

  She sputtered for a moment, incoherent. When she’d collected herself, she gasped out, “You’re going to do that here?”

  “Where else?” And then he crawled the rest of the distance and lowered his head, and she forgot about protesting, about her neighbors, about breathing.

  At the first flick of his tongue, her hips shot straight into the air. He teased and taunted her clitoris, back and forth, then sank two fingers inside her. She screamed. Right there in her backyard, she screamed and groaned and whimpered at the raw, heady sensation of having a man feast between her legs.

  “Better than I dreamed,” he said.

  An orgasm ripped through her and she bit her hand to hold in the rest of her cries. The pleasure was intense, so intense. White lights blinked in and out of her vision as her entire body clenched and un
clenched, clenched and unclenched. She bit down so sharply, she drew blood. It was exquisite. Blissful.

  Then Marcus surged up and buried his long, thick length inside of her, stretching her, filling her. So good. So good. He didn’t move, just stared down at her. Sweat trickled from his temples. “I think it’s safe to say they’re all watching now,” he said, his voice strained.

  And just like that, she peaked again. “Marcus. Marcus!”

  “I’d ask if you liked living out your fantasy, but I already know the answer.” He rocked forward, hard. “I’d ask if you like the thought of being discovered, but I know the answer to that, too.”

  She might have laughed. Or moaned. She didn’t know. She was having trouble forming proper thoughts. “I…hmm…liked it…hmm.”

  “I think the neighbor on our left just stepped onto her back porch.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Should I stop?” He pounded forward again.

  “No. No!”

  His warm breath fanned her cheek and he increased his tempo, slipping, sliding, working deeply. It was too much, not enough.

  “Are you sure?” he gasped out.

  “Sure. Good. Never stop.” If he stopped…if he stopped…He hit her exactly where she needed him, deep, so deep, and she erupted again. She quivered and shook and clung to him, shouting his name.

  His muscles stiffened beneath her hands, and he roared his satisfaction, shuddering into her. “Jillian. Jillian, Jillian, Jillian.”

  “Marcus, yes, yes, yes!”

  “Jillian?”

  Jillian floated down from the stars at the sound of Mrs. Franklin’s voice. She stiffened and stilled. Shit. Shit! Marcus choked back a laugh. At least he was on top of her, hiding her nakedness from view. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Franklin.”

  “I heard—”

  “I’ll be sure to spank Jillian for being so loud,” Marcus said. He wasn’t even trying to hide his smile as his beautiful face peered down at her.

  Mrs. Franklin gasped. “Oh! Oh, my.”

  Jillian heard a door slam shut. She bit back a chuckle and shoved Marcus off her. She ran into the house, her face hot. Behind her, Marcus growled, “Lock me out and I will spank you.”

  She was at the sink, bent over laughing when he stalked inside. Dear God. Her seventy-year-old neighbor had seen her having sex. And she didn’t care. What kind of kinky sex slave was Marcus turning her into?

  Unabashed by his nudity, he anchored his hands on his hips and glared down at her. His hair was a mess, his color high. His eyes glowed with satisfaction, mocking the anger he was trying to project. When her laughter subsided, he said, “If you think that’s going to get you out of cuddling, you are so wrong.”

  Twenty-One

  Didn’t anyone tell you that you wanted to sleep with me? I thought you knew.

  Ring. PAUSE. Ring. Pause. Ring.

  Despite the throbbing ache in her head, Georgia cracked open her eyelids. Only dizziness greeted her. She groaned. Her stomach rolled and her mouth felt like cotton. What’s wrong with me?

  “Someone kill me,” she murmured. What had she done last night? Wait. She remembered. She’d drunk more wine, tossed and turned, then finally cried herself to sleep at sunrise. Wyatt had dumped her. Brent had visited her, demanding she show him her absolute worst.

  Ring. God in heaven, what the hell was making that noise? Ring.

  The phone, she realized a moment later. Blindly she reached out and clasped the receiver. “Hello,” she croaked. Her throat hurt, and she rubbed it, trying to wipe away the burning sting.

  “Georgia?”

  She blinked. “Brent?”

  “Sweetheart, are you okay? What’s wrong with your voice?”

  She glanced at the digital clock. Seven minutes past eight. But, but, it was dark outside. It was—eight at night, she realized. She must have slept the entire day away.

  “Georgia, sweetie. Talk to me.”

  “I’m okay.” Maybe. “Hangover, I think.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, paused, felt her eyebrows—or where they should be. “What the—” Her blood froze in her veins as a memory surfaced.

  “I missed you today,” Brent said. “Where were you?”

  Panicked, Georgia lumbered out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Her insides twisted with every movement, threatening to erupt, but she didn’t stop until she was in front of the vanity. She flicked on the light, and her eyes instantly teared from the intensity. She blinked them back…and her reflection came into view.

  A scream tore from her throat.

  “Georgia? What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

  “Ohmygod. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.”

  “Baby, talk to me.”

  “I—I…” She looked like a monster. A hideous beast with spikes. She’d cut off her hair, her pretty hair. Clumps of red formed a carpet on her floor tile. And her eyebrows, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows…she’d shaved them.

  Georgia leaned over and vomited. She dropped the phone, but heard Brent shout, “I’m coming over.”

  “No!” she screamed, and dove for the receiver.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He disconnected.

  He can’t see me like this. He can’t fucking see me like this! Not Brent. Anyone but Brent. Moving faster than she ever had before, Georgia rinsed out her mouth and rushed into her room. She jerked on the first items of clothing she found, a thick pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt stained with red wine.

  “Why, why, why did I do this?” But she already knew the answer. In her drunken haze, she’d thought to show Brent he didn’t really want her, not for the woman she was.

  She whimpered.

  She had to get out of here. Where? Where could she go? Jillian! Jillian would hide her, even from Brent. She didn’t bother tugging on a pair of shoes as she rushed out the front door.

  THEY CUDDLED AND SNUGGLED and Jillian loved every moment of it. She felt cozy, cherished, and could not deny that her body fit perfectly against Marcus’s. Who would have thought such a thing was possible? Not her, that was for sure.

  She sighed with contentment. She’d never felt more sated in her life, and Marcus was the one who had made her feel that way. It was like he’d reached into her subconscious, discovered exactly what she wanted, exactly what she needed and presented it to her on an orgasmic platter.

  “Since you’ve been inside me,” she found herself saying, “maybe—”

  “Twice,” he interjected.

  “Since you’ve been inside me twice, maybe now would be a good time to get to know each other a little better.” Wait. That was the opposite of remaining detached. Why had she said that? Because you really do want to know more about him. You like him.

  “Good idea,” he said. “I’ve been dying to know more about the birthmark on your ass.” Without giving her time to protest, he flipped her onto her stomach. “Darker.” There was arousal in his voice. “Me likie-likie.”

  She grinned and rolled over. “Typical male. That’s not what I meant by getting to know each other.”

  “My bad. Let’s start with you. Tell me why you’re so neat and tidy.” He gripped her waist and pulled her more snugly into his side.

  She settled her cheek onto the hollow of his neck. The gentle thump thump of his heart filled her ears. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “Not bad. Cute. But your house is color-coded, Jillian.”

  She liked her name on his lips. Sensual. Seductive. “You’ve stopped calling me Dimples, at least.”

  “I like your dimples. They’re sexy.”

  “They’re schoolgirlish.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Tell me that while you’re wearing a uniform and knee-high socks and I’ll…be turned on,” he said, as if just realizing it.

  She pinched one of the hard ropes of his stomach.

  “Ow. So what’s with the tidiness? Your mom’s house was clean and subdued, nothing to cause a little girl to grow up to despise clutter and multi
ple colors.”

  “Are you a therapist now?”

  “Yes.” His voice dipped low, husky, and his accent thickened. “Tell Dr. Marcus all your problems.”

  She chuckled. “I like the serenity of soft, matching colors. I like knowing everything has a place. There’s nothing more to it than that, I promise you. Are you saying you don’t like my place?”

  “I like it just fine. It turns me on.”

  She almost laughed. “Everything turns you on.”

  “When it involves you, yes.”

  If he kept that up, he would melt her. Destroy her resolve to keep things purely sexual. “So what does your place look like?”

  “I have an apartment downtown. It’s filled with boxes, hardly any furniture except for my poker table.”

  No man liked to gamble more than Marcus, and she found that she liked that about him, his willingness to take risks. “How long have you been in Oklahoma?”

  “Long enough to unpack,” he said dryly.

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  He shrugged, the action bouncing her up and down. She opened her mouth to tell him she’d come help him unpack, but stopped just in time. Helping a man unpack was a girlfriend’s responsibility.

  “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after work?” he said. “I’ll show you around.”

  She hesitated, even though she wanted to shout, Yes! “Okay,” she said slowly.

  “You can unpack while I take a nap,” he added with a grin.

  “Ha, ha.” She tugged on his hair.

  “Ow.” He rubbed his scalp. “You’re bloodthirsty. I guess this means you’re ready for round two.”

  Yes, she was, but she said, “I need to yell at you first. Get myself more in the mood.”

  “You don’t want to yell at me,” he said confidently.

  He was right. “All right, smartie. Since you know so much, tell me why I don’t want to yell at you right now.”

  “I have a theory.” Suddenly he was all seriousness.

  She propped up on her elbow and stared down at him. Her black curls cascaded onto his chest, around his beautiful face. His lids were at half-mast, his brown eyes all warm and silky. “I don’t think I want to hear it.”