Page 42 of No Kind of Hero
“Sex. We are. And your legs turn me on. I don’t know if that’s Marilyn or . . . whoever. Or Idoknow. It’s not. It’s you. I think you’d look damn sexy in one of those. I don’t care if they’re in style or not. That would work for me.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well. Good.” He’d flustered her, clearly, but in a good way. Or maybe it was his thumb, stroking up her thigh again. Seemed he could get into that twice in one day, and so could she. “And, um, you were going to tell me. About . . . me.”
“Yeah. Right.” He got both hands around her calves and pulled her right on over, so her knees were draped over his thighs.
Oh, yeah. Access. Her ribbed tank had ridden up to just below her breasts with the movement. She really did have almost nothing on, and she obviously wasn’t wearing a bra, which raised another very interesting question. He kept petting her, keeping it light, almost absent-minded, so she’d be wondering what he was thinking, whether she was the only one getting turned on. “I was going to tell you,” he said as he did it, “that I love the way you turn pink just from me looking at you. I love the way your legs get shaky when I kiss you, and I loved how you told me about taking that bath. I love how soft and sweet you smell, and how much you loved it today when I flipped you over. I love that you want me to tell you what to do sometimes. And yeah, that’s probably why I like Marilyn better. But I still like you best. All that self-control, all that shy thing. And then making you lose it.”
He kept his hands going. Slow and easy, up and down her thighs, the insides of her knees, all the sensitive spots. Now, he trailed his thumbs up her inner thighs, edging her legs apart just a little, and said, “Now you.”
“Uh . . . me?” It wasn’t exactly her most take-charge question ever, but then, she wasn’t looking very take-charge right now.
“It’d be real good,” he said, his thumbs almost there, “if you told me why I . . . what was it?”
“Why you set me on . . . fire.” She was definitely having some trouble now. His hands neared the edge of those tiny gray fleece shorts, and she hauled in a short, sharp breath. “It’s how you . . . look at me. It always has been. Like you want to, uh . . . eat me up. Like you know you’re going to turn me over, and you want me to know it, too. Like you’re going to want me, uh . . .”
“Yeah?” He pulled her closer. He needed more. And he got it. He reached right under those shorts, and oh, yeah. There was nothing at all under there except some wet, slick, hot woman. So he went to work on that. Painting her. Exploring her. Taking his time. Her eyes were closing, and she was starting to breathe hard.
He wasn’t done yet, though. He said, “Like I’m going to want you what? You having some fantasies, baby? This would be a real good time to tell me about them.”
“You might . . .” She hauled in a breath, because he’d sneaked a couple fingers inside her. “Think I’m too . . . dirty.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her eyes flew open, and she tried to frown, but he was hauling her shorts down to her knees, and that seemed to distract her. “One thing I can tell you for sure,” he said, “is that you’ll never be too dirty for me. I guarantee you, there’s nothing you can think of that I haven’t already done to you.”
“Like what? Maybe you could suggest and I could say, you know.” Another gasp, because he was going to town on her now, finding out exactly how she liked being rubbed and stroked. “Whether it’s, ahhh . . .”
“Ever gone out wearing a dress and nothing under it, in any of those thoughts of yours?” he asked. A gentleman helped a lady out. “Ever whisper in my ear to tell me about it, so I’d have to get you in that elevator or that back room? I might not have done you there, though. I might just have touched you a whole lot, worked you all the way up, so you’d have to spend the rest of the night wanting it, all the way until I got you home. After that, though? I’d do you so hard.”
“That might have been . . . one.” She squirmed like she wanted him to go faster, so he slowed down. “But I got . . . worse.”
“Let me guess,” he said. Putting it out there, but why the hell not? If they were having a fling . . . well, he wanted tofling.Surely he deserved some flinging. “Knowing how you like that take-charge guy, I’m guessing this could involve your hands tied behind your back and you down on the floor on your pretty knees.” His exploring hand got the message that he’d guessed right. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, and he didn’t think she was going to be doing a lot more talking. So he did it for her. “Or your hands over your head, tied to my bed.”
Her response was a moan, and he needed a whole lot more of that. He pulled her shorts the rest of the way off, and then he stood up, got that white tank top off her, and looked at her stretched out on the couch. Long legs, slim torso, delicate curves. And all that secret pink, right there for him to see and touch andhave.
She wanted it better, though? She wanted a fantasy? He could do that. He pulled her legs some more, got her all the way across that couch, then up so her hips were resting on the arm and her legs were over the side. Her eyes opened wide when he did it, and her arms were stretched behind her. She was about to say something, but he stopped her.
“Oh, yeah,” he told her. “Stay like that. You want to know what I want from you? I could tell you. Or I could show you.” He got between her legs, pushed her thighs slowly up and apart until her feet were resting on the arm of the couch, then had to spend another minute or two touching her, working her closer, then closer than that. Until she was moaning, and he was dying.
She said, “Evan. Take off . . . your clothes. I want to see you. Please.”
That wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever heard. He pulled the T-shirt over his head, and she watched him do it. “You’re so strong,” she said. “You make me so crazy.”
He laughed, though it came out rough. And then he got rid of the shorts and said, “Then don’t close your eyes. Watch me do this. I want you to see. I want you toknow.”
She dragged those blue eyes open, and everything in her face told him how much she needed this. And when he held the backs of her thighs and pushed himself slowly inside, her mouth opened right along with the rest of her.
Oh, holy hell. The way she was looking at him. The heat of her. She wastight.He had to stop for a moment, grit his teeth, and get himself together.
“Evan.” It was a breath. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.”
Slowly, then. Stroking carefully, watching her face, seeing what felt good and what felt better. How much she loved it when he pushed deep, when he hit that spot. Seeing her body laid out beneath him, pliant and so responsive. He could watch her while he did it, and she could watch him in a way he’d bet she never had with anyone. And shewaswatching. She was breathing hard, and he was moving faster. And when her hand strayed down her body like it had a mind of its own and joined the party? He burned that much hotter, and so did she.
One arm over her head, that other hand working herself closer. His own hands wrapped around those slim thighs, pulling her into him, while her hair, draped over the couch behind her, was dragged forward and back with every thrust. She was still watching him, her mouth forming his name. Like she knew who was doing this to her, and she loved knowing it was him.
He was almost there. So close. And she was too. It was almost too good to bear. “Come on,” he managed to grind out. “Come on, baby. Show me how dirty you are. Show me now. Tell me.”
“Evan.” She was saying it now. “Evan. Fuck me hard. Make me . . . make me . . .”
That was it. He felt the spasms beginning to grip him, saw her head go back and the arm over her head go rigid, her hand clutching at the edge of the cushion, holding on. And he lost every last bit of his control.
