Page 38 of Take Me Tender

Innocent or wicked? Her choice?

She had no choice. It was all deliciously orchestrated by Jay, by his stealthy, nimble fingers. They went farther now, sliding away from the crease of her thigh to toy with her through the dampening fabric of her panties.

Her breath moved in and out of her throat and her face burned. This was crazy. And exciting. The hidden, under-the-covers aspect of it made her feel like she was seventeen and playing with her daring boyfriend in her parents’ living room.

Just something else she’d skipped, like those movie-theater and at-the-prom kisses.

Two of Jay’s fingers traveled higher, then slid under the waistband of her underwear to dip shallowly into the softening center of her body. She was so wet there that it sort of embarrassed her, except that she saw a little smile of satisfaction come over his face. He drew the moisture up, stroking it over and around the soft layers of her sex, though missing the one magic spot he’d made her touch the night before.

She wanted to moan, squirm, heck, suck on his tongue, but he was acting avid television viewer and she was aware of Fern, who could come tromping down the stairs at any time.

One long finger slid inside her body. Deep.

She went rigid, swallowing her groan, but her muscles clenched down on him as he circled and plunged again. The slight soreness only, perversely, made his intrusion more exciting. Her flesh throbbed and she whimpered with the naughty delight of it all. “Jay…”

There was a flush high on his cheekbones and his jaw hardened as he glanced over at her. His eyes glittered as they cut her way. “Shhh, baby. Innocent, remember?”

But she couldn’t feel anything but wicked as he slid another finger inside her. Her hips lifted into him, desperate for him to thrust deeper, to take her higher, to touch her there.

He glanced over again. “Pull up the blanket, cookie. You’re distracting me.”

Oh, God. She looked down to see her hard nipples poking against the thin fabric of her bra and T-shirt. Her fingers trembled as she covered herself, and he nodded, his gaze lifting to her face.

“Good girl,” he whispered, then rewarded her by sliding his whole hand into her panties so he could push deeper inside her and brush across the top of her sex with his thumb.

She jerked into his touch, even as she tried to hold herself to the cushions. He stroked there again, and her womb twitched, her inner muscles tightening on him with the same pressure as the pleasure that was squeezing like a belt around her hips.

This was dangerous, wasn’t it?

Play, she could hear Jay’s voice in her head, gentle, casual, charming. Play.

He was watching her now, and she went hot from her collarbone to her pubic bone, so hot she had to close her eyes, too. His fingers were still inside her, and only his thumb was moving, strumming her like an instrument, fooling with her body that was straining, straining for her second-ever orgasm.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he said. “Do it for me.”

Her skin blazed, but her hand moved slowly under the blanket. His thumb moved to make room for her.

“That’s right,” he coaxed. “Touch yourself and make it happen.”

She wanted to. She had to. She did.

Oh, God.

The climax washed over her, through her, toppling any leftover concerns, and she held on to it as long as she could, gripping his fingers with muscles that shook with the sharp, sweet bliss of peaking satisfaction. She wasn’t any teenager getting a furtive thrill, but a woman who had been denied for too, too long.

Her breath was still caught somewhere between her chest and her throat when she heard clattering footsteps on the stairs. Without looking at Jay, she jackknifed out of her slouch. His hand drew away from between her thighs, though he slid a warm palm along her leg as he sat straighter on the cushions.

When Fern entered the living room they were both seemingly engrossed in entertainment news. Nikki struggled to gather her thoughts together. Oh, man. Her “professional” plan was blown to smithereens, but she had to recoup something. She had to come up with a way to equalize things between herself and Jay.

Tuning into the broadcast, she recalled that noble, holy purpose she’d struck upon the first day they’d met. He had to learn that every woman wasn’t a complete pushover when she came up against his playboy charms.

“You have Hollywood connections, handsome,” she said, inserting a sugary wheedle into her voice. “Can’t you somehow connect your favorite lesbian girlfriend with the object of her affections? Especially since we’ve just learned that pop star’s in town shooting a new music video?”

Jay sent her a look. “This fixation of yours on other women has got to stop.”

“Why?” She batted her lashes at him, copying a move she’d seen Cassandra make on Gabe. “When she makes me so,” her mouth silently finished the word, just for him, hot.

His eyes darkened. He half rose from the couch, her hand already squeezed by his. Now this was more like it. He seemed as turned on as she had been moments before. If what they had wasn’t professional, at least it could be power-balanced.

Fern reminded them both she was still in the room. “You guys are so weird,” she pronounced again. “I’m going to meet Marie. I’ll be back at seven.”

The front door slammed shut behind her.

Within the next breath, she and Jay were scrambling for his bedroom. When he saw her limping, he swung her up in his arms and she shrieked.

And then again, as he tossed her onto the bed and followed her down.

“We have to be done by seven,” she said, breathless.

“I’m a journalist,” he reminded her, his mouth already on her neck. “I work best with a deadline.”

Seventeen

Life loves the liver of it.

—MAYA ANGELOU, WRITER

And it was just like that between Nikki and Jay for the next several days. Sneaking around Fern to revel in sizzling exchanges wherever, whenever they could. Again, just like two high schoolers who couldn’t get enough of each other, they traded luscious kisses behind the screen of the pantry door, they trailed fingers over each other’s hot skin while parked in the shade of the lot at the grocery store, they shared an ice-cream cone and it felt as intimate as sleeping on the same pillow.

Nikki didn’t spend another night because there was a teenager in the house, not because of any rules they’d set or time lines they’d established or plan she’d made. She didn’t think of any of those when they made sweet, hurried love while his cousin went to the post office or when they drew out the pleasure during the evening hours Fern spent at the movies.

Though Nikki was admittedly out of her element, she didn’t let herself consider how each moment in his arms bonded them in a way she’d never before experienced. She only thought of how each moment was so erotically sweet.

And it was just another thrilling one when he came up behind her in the kitchen as she sat on a stool, de-stringing snap peas to add to a cashew chicken salad. His hands cupped her shoulders and he bent down to kiss her jaw.

“Mmm,” he whispered against her skin. “I love vanilla.”

Her nipples tightened and she clenched her thighs together, holding the instant pleasure in. She had to hook her heels more securely on the rungs of the stool so she didn’t slide into a puddle of want at his feet.

It took her a moment to steady her voice. “That’s not what you said yesterday when I refused to climb a ladder onto the roof so we could, as I think you so elegantly put it, ‘do it on the shingles.’”

“I said I’d put a blanket over them. And I was in a state, cookie. The cleaning lady was running the vacuum, Fern was watching TV in the living room, and I was desperate to have you.”

Jay Buchanan desperate over a woman? Never gonna happen. But she let the statement lie. “Still,” she turned to frown at him over her shoulder. “You made fun of me for only wanting what you call ‘vanilla’ sex.”

He nipped her bottom lip. “It’s because of all your teasing talk about your strap-on. I’m sorry, though. I’ll let you tie me up and torture me later.”

She raised an eyebrow and pretended tepid interest instead of giving away the cinnamon-hot longing that stabbed through her at the idea of being alone with him and with enough privacy to do everything from vanilla to spicy in his bed. “Is Fern going out tonight?”

“No. Actually, I am. I just took a call and now I have to meet a guy in Century City for drinks.”

“Oh.” She turned back to her snap peas. “I’m scheduled to clean my fishbowl tonight, anyway.” It was the second thing that came into her head and she went with it, since claiming she needed the time to wash her hair sounded even more lame.

Jay spun her around to face him. His smile was full of boyish charm and the certitude of a man who always got his way. “Don’t go home, cookie.” His voice was soft and sounded like sinful persuasion. “Stay here until I get back.”

As sweet as these moments were, she didn’t want him thinking she depended upon them. And as exciting as it was to be with him, she told herself she missed the familiarity of her silent condo and the security of her solitude. “We’ve been tucked in each other’s pockets for days, Jay. There’s nothing wrong with a night off.”

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