AddingHeat (3 page)

It was so unlike him to lose it like that. But his companion
epitomized his dream woman. Petite but possessed of curves luscious enough to
make the devil weep. Skin so glowingly healthy from the sun she couldn’t
possibly be wearing makeup. Eyes like a bottomless bowl of chocolate sauce.

Why on earth he hadn’t suggested, say, bringing some chick
flicks to watch while snuggling together on her sofa and sipping a good shiraz,
he couldn’t answer. She’d simply pole-axed his brain the day they’d met at the
Senior Center. He’d been a little surprised when she’d offhandedly mentioned her
age—she sure didn’t look forty-four—but his cock certainly didn’t care about
their dozen-year age difference. He hoped she was broad-minded enough to feel
the same.

A glance at his watch told him they’d been at it for a half
hour. How the hell could he have thought biking was a good idea? He’d dropped
back every now and again for the sublime pleasure of watching her ass cheeks
flex as she pedaled. He was getting more aroused by the minute.

Just as he was about to suggest turning back, he recognized
the street they had turned onto. She’d led him in a long square and they were
heading for her property.

And in the slanting late-afternoon sun, her sweat-kissed
skin shimmered golden. A picture of her lounging sweaty and smiling—and
naked—between his navy-blue sheets instantly made more blood pool between his
legs.

Whoa, cock. Down.
He’d have to get off the bike and
stand pretty soon, and he’d better not look like an adolescent with his first
surreptitious copy of
Hustler
.

He followed her down the long, dusty driveway, the lush
smell of burgeoning spring swirling around him. They alit at the rear of his
SUV. She rested her bike against the back bumper then made a small sound of
distress.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Con reached out, ready for any
excuse to touch her.

She lifted one racer back strap a few inches off her
shoulder. A delicately pale stripe bisected a rather bright red curve of skin.
“I figured the shade trees along the road would protect me. I should have
slathered on some SPF.”

“Oh my,” he murmured. “It looks painful.”

“I’ve survived worse. It’s just, I spend a lot of time
outdoors in the nursery or on the job and I should have known better.”

“I keep some aloe vera gel in my biking kit.” He bent
forward to unbuckle the kit from behind the back seat of his bicycle and rooted
around. He dearly wanted to stroke her skin himself, but the gentleman in him
forced him to say, “Here’s the tube. The label says to apply lavishly.”

Instead of reaching for it, Giselle said, “I should probably
wash the sweat off first, you know, so it would absorb better.”

Con blinked. Stood stock-still, trying not to picture her
doing just that, suds dripping down those firm, heavy breasts. He fought to
keep control of his nether regions.

“Do you think you could help me?” Without meeting his eye,
she turned and climbed the three steps to her porch, pulling out her key from
her fanny pack and unlocking the door.

Was she thinking along the same lines as he? Or was it only
his cock seeing what it wanted to see? With an effort, Con snapped his jaw shut
and, clutching his kit, followed her into a two-story house he judged to be
1920s Craftsman style.

He entered her front hallway and spared a glance through an
archway leading to a cozy living room filled with plump chairs and a loveseat
grouped around a fireplace. But his gaze was focused on that luscious round
rump as she climbed the uncarpeted stairway. He noted she’d kicked off her
sneakers and Peds. He did the same then followed her into a spacious bathroom.
Trying to distract his thoughts from that fine ass of hers, he noted an
old-fashioned claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, both with a patina that led him
to think they were original to the house.

All thoughts of architecture and décor fled as she reached
behind her to unhook the back clasp of her bra, then turned around to look over
her shoulder into the mirror. The bike kit slipping from his fingers, he barely
noticed her little moue of distress. He was holding his breath, wondering if
she’d forgotten he was there, and wishing her next move might be to remove the
bra entirely.

“Con.” She lifted her gaze to him and he hoped she hadn’t
caught him staring. “I need to take a tepid bath. And I really would like you
to stay and help me. Because look at my back. And I’ll bet my thighs are also…”
Bending down, she lifted the tight hem of her spandex shorts. “Ugh. I thought
so. Just call me Checkerboard Charlie.”

No one would ever mistake you for a Charlie
, was on
the tip of his tongue, but he trapped it behind his teeth. “I’ll do anything
you need me to do.”

“Would you run the water for me? I’ll just…” She trailed
off.

Okay, don’t spook her
.
Keeping his gaze firmly
on the faucet, he jockeyed both handles open. When the temperature approximated
his concept of tepid, he plugged the drain and let the tub fill. He could feel
his heart pounding double-time, echoing the throb of his cock. Would she come
naked to the tub? Wrap herself in a robe and consign him to the hallway while
she stepped in and soaked?

A soft moan snapped his gaze to her.

“I need help.”

Con hurried to shut off the water and sprang to his feet. He
couldn’t quite read her expression, so he stood there, undecided what to do.

“These things are so darn tight, it hurts when I rub them
against the burn. Can you, um, help me take off my bra and shorts with a
minimum of dragging against the sunburn?”

Was the Pope Catholic? Did the sun set in the west?

He mentally lectured himself. Her comfort was paramount
here. He could do this. “Sure. Turn around.” After a quick perusal of the bra’s
formidable construction—unclasping the back strap had merely loosened its hold
what with the X over her shoulders still holding her cups in place—he said,
“Okay. At the count of three, you lift the front and I’ll lift the back.” With
hands that barely trembled, he spread his fingers underneath the superstructure
of the racer back and counted. Slowly, as he followed the cautious raising of
Giselle’s arms, they managed to get the stretchy garment over her head.

Then he looked in the mirror and almost swallowed his
tongue. Amber. Her nipples were the shade of precious amber. Her breasts were
heavy, round, slightly drooping and swaying as she lowered her arms.

“Ah, that feels better.”

“Giselle.” It came out as a squeak.

She turned to him, uncertainty in her eyes. “You don’t like…?”

He commanded his tongue to work but couldn’t keep the
breathless quality from his voice. “I have never seen a more beautiful sight in
my life. Thank you.”

The uncertainty remained, but the corners of her mouth
tilted upward. “Oh.”

Then his cock made him speak without engaging his brain.
“Giselle, more than anything else in this world, I want to get in that tub with
you, but if I wait another minute, I won’t be able to get my shorts off. Do I
have your permission?”

Her gaze traveled down his torso. The tip of his cock,
outlined against the tight spandex, lengthened as though she’d touched him.

Instead of answering, she reached for his waistband.

“No! I mean, I’ll probably have as much difficulty removing
it as we did with your bra.” And damn if his cock didn’t swell even more at the
thought of showing itself off. He hoped he didn’t come off as too eager and
unsophisticated, but damn, he couldn’t wait a moment longer. Con ripped off his
shirt and gingerly slid the tight shorts down his hips with one hand, holding
his rampant cock against his belly with the other.

“Oh!” Her tentative smile ripened into full sunshine. “I
always wondered if Lance Armstrong and his peers went commando.”

“I don’t know about them, but it’s more comfortable for me
to, er, have everything in its place without extra layers of fabrics or hems
and seams that create ridges.”

The laugh she gifted him with warmed him. “Well, it’s time
to discover whether I’ve gone commando as well. Please?” She raised her palms
in invitation, and his mouth watered as he noticed how her nipples had gotten
puckered and tight.

Kneeling at her feet, he carefully rolled the fabric down
her hips. He stopped when her neatly trimmed triangle of dark hair came into
view. Without conscious thought, he leaned forward and rained kisses on the
exposed skin from one curvy hip to the other.

She burrowed her fingers in his unruly hair. He closed his
eyes in thanksgiving for that reaction then continued rolling her shorts down
her legs. He thought she winced when the bundle scraped the burn at her thighs
so he did the first thing he could think of to take her mind off the pain.

He began to stroke the plump lips with his tongue, inhaling
the ripe scent of sweaty, aroused woman.

* * * * *

“Con!”

He jerked his head back. Luckily the fistfuls of hair she
gripped kept that dazzling tongue from straying too far.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Conlan Trowbridge, don’t you dare apologize. You
just…surprised me, that’s all.”

“I wanted to take your mind off your pain.”

Giselle bent forward, cradling his head in her hands. “Good.
That’s a creative solution. But how about I get my feet out of these shorts
before I trip and bang my head against the tub? Then I’d really be in pain.”

Instantly his strong fingers twined around her hips. “Hold
on to me and just kick them free.”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she did, marveling at
the tensile strength of his long, ropy muscles. He hadn’t looked so…formidable
in his blue Brooks Brothers shirt at the Senior Citizens’ Center, but here in
her bathroom, he seemed the perfect specimen of manhood, his cock jutting out
like a trowel, the hair around it dark and thick with a trail leading up to his
navel. She could only hope that in his obviously horny state, he’d overlook her
less-than-centerfold-quality body. And with both of them naked, dayum, she
wondered if he could see her juices seeping out of her pussy from his vantage
point on his knees
in front of her.

On his knees. In front of her pussy. Her naked pussy.
She leaned forward a scant inch and made contact with his mouth again.

He took the hint eagerly, groaning and sliding his hands
down from her hips to the vee between her legs. With her ankles untangled from
the shorts, she was able to spread her legs to allow him greater access. His
thumbs parted her pussy lips and…he feasted. No other word would do. It seemed
to Giselle as though he was satisfying a deep hunger.

Which fed her own hunger. She threw her head back, closed
her eyes and simply…felt. Now he was circling a thumb on her clit, which shot
lightning bolts throughout her core. Now his tongue soothed the hard nubbin,
doubling the sensation. One strong hand slid around to her ass and cupped her
flesh. His other hand stroked her inner thigh up to the crease then slid
between her lips. He slipped one finger, then two, into her slick passage and
thrust rhythmically. Her hips started rocking of their own volition.

She wanted this, wanted him, desperately wanted that peak
she couldn’t reach by herself. Her breath came shorter. She heard a feral-sounding
growl and realized it came from her own throat as she gripped fistfuls of his
hair tighter and tighter, pulling his face even closer to her pussy. Need
spiraled into a mere pinpoint against his tongue. Something—his finger?—poked
into her anus and she shattered the way a tossed stone shatters the still
surface of a lake, sending ripples to every atom in her body again and again
until calm descended once more.

And then he was standing before her, Con, her accountant and
biker, murmuring nonsense syllables, soothing her, carefully holding her by her
unburned hips and nudging her into the tub.

The tub. Her sunburn. What she’d done. What
they’d
done.

Oh my, she was now a cougar.

She blinked several times and focused on eyes as blue as a
glowing sapphire, soft and lusty at the same time, his lips shiny with…her
juices. Wow. She’d have to remember this little detail to tell the blog ladies.

“That’s it. Just sit down. Is the water too warm? Too cool?”

A laugh escaped Giselle. “I’m no Goldilocks, but it’s just
right.”

His smile brought out that dimple in his left cheek.
Adorable he was, a stray lock of brown hair draping across one brow, a
washcloth in one hand and her botanical soap in the other, bending across the
tub to stroke the sudsy cloth carefully across her shoulders. Now that her
torso was mostly hidden under the bathwater, she let her mind wander away from
how much older her body was than his and relaxed even further into his intimate
attention.

“Does that hurt?”

“No. Con…”

“Good. Bend forward. I’ll do your back.”

“Con, you didn’t clim—”

“It’s just right, remember? Let’s get your sunburn taken
care of first.”

So she lowered her lashes and allowed him to minister to
her. His touch was so gentle it made her want to weep. He tenderly cleansed
then rinsed and she was lulled by the novelty of a man taking care of her
again, basking in his attention and concern.

A splash startled her eyes open. Con stood with both feet in
the tub, facing her, his back to the faucet, his cock bobbing up and down above
her face. “Can you scoot back a smidge? The water feels good.”

“Oh. Of course.” She did and he knelt on the slippery
porcelain, immersing his thighs almost to his balls. She held out her hand. “Do
you want me to…”

“Yeah, I want you to.”

She wiggled her fingers. “The soap?”

“The cock.”

He took her outstretched hand and settled it against the
scorching heat of him. Giselle felt it jump as she wrapped her fingers around a
cock that veritably pulsed with life. On a moan of bliss he settled into the
tub, sloshing the water that had gone perilously high with his movement. She
inched closer, jockeying her legs over his and around his hips so she could
more easily reach this new toy, this hot shaft that throbbed in her hand.