Page 51 of Burning for You

Her lips stay parted after the word ‘nice,’ as if begging me to kiss them. Ashamedly, my brain soon draws the connection between those cherry lips and her magnificent slit. Whichever one I slide my cock into, I will wreak havoc on it. Perhaps I am a scumbag after all.

My self-control is waning.

Her eyes blink, obviously feeling my breath bashing against them.

“I prepared that fucking shed for you. Otherwise, you would’ve frozen to death. And I gave you my flashlight. Do you know how hard it was to hike back using just a phone light?”

“Shouldn’t be hard. You know this valley like the back of your hand. No?”

I tilt my face. “I let you clean yourself. I brought you fresh clothes.”

This morning I looked inside Carolyn’s suitcase. What kind of person didn’t bring warm clothing going to Montana? True, it’s nearly summer, and it’s been well reported that spring in this part of the West has been mild. Still, at night it can get really cold. Perhaps Miss Meyer expected her travels to be cozy, and that she’d be confined to heated rooms and treated to expensive wines.

“I saved you just now, but I won’t do it again if you don’t play ball. Know this—my brother will kill you.”

“You’re not a nice man.”

No one has ever told me I’m not a nice man. I don’t think I’ve ever been nasty to a woman. But look at me, I’m on top of Carolyn Meyer, a lady boss who happens to be sexy as hell. But what do I know about her? Does my self-worth go as far as my cock?

But she’s in this too. Look at her! Her eyes are engulfed in fire. Not a fire of rage—it’s plain lust. I haven’t forgotten her challenging me wearing only her underwear this morning.

Every time I breathe at her, she returns the favor, sending her breath to skate over my cheeks.

Is that her legs opening that I feel? The damn woman acts as if she’s in heat, never mind her period.

My hand snakes under her skirt.

A runner’s thigh, so firm. My palm feels rough on her skin. She must take care of herself very well. What does she do? Bathe in milk?

Her flesh trembles under my fingertips, just for a couple of seconds. Maybe she’s surprised that I would clutch her with such eagerness, but as I press harder, she shifts her feet and opens her knees even wider, as if approving.

I thumb her panties, running it along the indented line that is the crevices of her entrance.

Carolyn’s self-control is waning, too. She releases a pleasurable gasp. “Come on, you wanna fuck me? Pull yours out before you pull down my panties. I dare you!”

I pin her down even more.

No sign of her pain from last night at the shed—which I really thought was pregnancy. It flustered me to ask her the question, and I know she thought it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. But the last thing I wanted was to hold captive a woman with child.

Besides, I had reasons to believe she was expecting. She’d fainted in that fateful bathroom, clutching her tummy. She puked like hell inside the trailer, and while we were trekking, she held her belly a lot.

While our lips are within kissing distance, Carolyn says, “Go on! Pull it out.”

I would. It’s throbbing like a stallion smelling pheromones. But dammit, I’m not going to succumb to her dare.

Grunting, I withdraw myself. I feel like such a disgrace, but looking at Carolyn, I don’t think she sees me that way. She’s still on fire.

As I stand petrified at the door, Jesse arrives with tools and a new lock.

“Don’t you touch her. Do you hear me, Jesse?” I say.

“Look at you!” Then he sniffs me. “You even smell of her now. Changing your preference? She’s old enough to be your mother!”

“Install the lock and leave her alone!” I tell Jesse. Then I give Carolyn one last glance, and a warning: “We’ll talk tonight. Think carefully about what you’re gonna say.”

As I trudge to the house, I can hear banging and drilling as Jesse installs the heavy-duty lock.

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