Bad Girl by Night (18 page)

“Oh God. Oh God, more,” she heard herself whimper, beg. “I—I can’t take it anymore. Please fuck me harder, faster! Please!”

A quick groan left Jake’s throat before he responded by driving up into her harder, just like she’d asked. She cried out and he did it again, again—and then he finally wrapped his arms around her and moved to lay her down on her back and begin plunging into her in earnest. He kissed her mouth hard and her arms twined around his neck. She felt him everywhere—in her, on top of her, around her, and soon her legs circled his waist, too.

They fucked that way for a few long, blissful minutes when Carly knew nothing but the sense of connection with him, the sense of him moving in and out of her, taking the inexplicable pleasure of a few minutes before and turning it hotter, harder, into something familiar she could grab on to. Until finally he went still—tired, she supposed—and lay atop her, lowering a few kisses to her neck. His breath warmed her skin there. She turned to face him so that his kisses found her mouth again, and they were slow, sweet—sometimes his lips simply lingered over hers, barely touching, yet she felt it tingling all the way down her spine.

When finally he pulled out of her, raising back up onto his knees, she let out a gasp at suddenly being empty, unhappy, and peered up at him in shock.

“Relax, we’re not done,” he told her, then reached for her hands to pull her up as well. “Turn over, on your knees.”

And like in Traverse City and again last night, she didn’t mind. Surrendering to him a little. After all, when she thought about it, she’d surrendered to him
a lot
—and nothing but pure pleasure had resulted.

So she faced the rear of the couch on her knees where he positioned her, resting her elbows on the back—then realized he was standing up behind her, on the floor. “Arch your ass,” he told her—and he smacked it once, the sensation echoing all through her—then grasped firmly onto her hips and slid his hard cock back inside.

They both let out low sounds of pleasure—and then he began to pound into her, hard. She curled her hands around the top of the backrest, holding on, crying out at each deep drive he delivered.
Yes, yes.

And then she realized she was . . . peering out the window behind the couch, on the side of her building that faced Maple. She was looking west up Main Street, past Beth Anne’s and the drugstore, beyond Schubert’s, and into a golden pink sunset. Dusk was falling over another summer night in Turnbridge, and she was in the apartment above her shop having her brains fucked out by the hot new cop in town, and anyone who happened to be out and glanced up just then might well see her illuminated in the window—and she didn’t care. Not enough to stop anyway. Not enough to stop soaking in the hard delight he sent reverberating through her body over and over again. She still cried out with each powerful stroke, and like so many times with Jake already, the pleasure held more power than her fear.

And then he leaned in closer—the front of his muscular male body warming her ass, her back. And his hand snaked around her hip and between her thighs and—
oh God
. It was the cherry on top of the deliciously sweet and gooey ice cream, and just what she needed—to come again. It happened in only a few short moments—she was biting her lower lip, sobbing and moaning, finally saying, “Now, now, now!” as the second orgasm exploded through her, fiery hot, rocking her whole body, causing her to pitch and jerk forward.

“Aw fuck—me, too,” he groaned, and then pounded into her harder, harder, practically taking her knees out from under her—but now his arms were both anchored around her waist to keep her where he wanted her.

After his final, long, well-pleasured sigh, they collapsed onto the couch together, Carly on her back, Jake alongside her, half on top of her.

They stayed quiet, resting, until she said, “What the hell
was
that?”

“That?” he asked. “
That
was a really good fuck—something I’d think you’d recognize by now.”

“No, the first part,” she explained.

And Jake tipped his head back slightly in understanding. “Oh,
that
. I think it was your G-spot.”

“Oh,” she said, still a little amazed as she thought it over. “But . . . I thought if you found your G-spot you came—from the inside, I mean, like in some different way than usual. I didn’t come until . . .”

“Some women come from it, some don’t,” he said. “But either way, most love it.”

She slanted a glance up at him. “And you know this from . . . ?”

“Experience,” he said simply.

So confidently that she raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?” he asked. “It’s just something I discovered on accident once, and so I’ve . . . kept it in my repertoire.”

And she laughed out loud.

He smiled. “
What
?”

“You have a repertoire,” she repeated, amused by the thought.

“We
all
have repertoires.”

“Not me.”

“Of course you do. Or Desiree does anyway.”

And when she started to protest, Jake interrupted to say, “Don’t tell me she doesn’t. You have certain things you do, things that work for you, and other things you know guys like.”

Carly sighed, then admitted, “Okay, true. I just never thought about it before, I guess. Or maybe I just find it funny to think of it as a repertoire.”

He lowered his chin, his look pointed. “You oughta be
thankful
I’ve developed a repertoire.”

She offered up a small, honest smile. “I am. It’s got some good stuff in it.”

“So does yours. Carly.” The words seemed designed to remind her that she and Desiree were the same person deep inside, whether she liked it or not.

And . . . maybe it was time she got that through her head, quit the silly game of separating them so much in her mind. It was time she faced the simple truth about that, even if it was still hard for her to accept.

“What do you like in my repertoire?” she decided to ask him. If they were discussing repertoires, after all, why not?

Propped up more on his side next to her now, he absently ran his fingertips over her stomach. “Tonight? Or the night we met?”

Don’t shy away from this. You
are
her. Quit running from that.
“Anytime.”

“I love when you fuck me with your tits,” he told her without hesitation. “And when you massage them—that’s hot. And you know how good you suck my cock. And . . . I nearly lost it when you told Colt to come on you.”

It was the first time they’d discussed that night in any truly frank, honest terms since he’d discovered how sensitive she was about it.

“That last one isn’t really part of my repertoire,” she admitted, thinking back.

“No?”

“It was the first time for that—an impulse. Because I . . .”

“You what?”

She swallowed, sorry she’d stopped. So she reminded herself how easy he was to talk to—maybe because he was so honest himself—and explained. “Remember I told you last night that I’d always used a condom before?”

He nodded.

“So I just . . . haven’t had many dealings with, um, semen. I’ve never, um, let anyone finish . . . you know, in my mouth. And once, a guy wanted to do what Colt did . . . come on me”—she realized she was blushing, but ignored it and moved on—“and I didn’t like it much. It wasn’t a very satisfying end for me. But that night in the hotel . . . I was curious about it, how it would feel under different circumstances.”

He looked down at her. “And how did it feel?”

“I liked it better. Because you were still inside me, so it wasn’t over. That made it pretty . . . hot.”

“Damn straight it did. Like I said, I nearly came, too.” He bent to lower a soft kiss high on her breast and leaned close to her face to say, “Honey, if you’re curious about semen, I can, uh, help you out with that. It’s in you right now, you know.”

She gasped lightly. “I’d forgotten.” She really had—she just wasn’t used to it. She’d been aware right after he’d come, but since lying back on the couch with him, it had slipped her mind.

She said nothing when he got to his feet, walking around the coffee table, and returned a minute later with his T-shirt in hand. Kneeling next to her, he touched her hip and said, “Lift,” and then slid the shirt under her on the couch. “I don’t want to make a mess,” he told her with a grin. And for all she knew,
she’d
already made a mess, but she’d deal with that later.

Next, he dipped his middle finger deftly between her legs, stroking her there, making her sigh—then coming up with wet fingers, definitely more wetness than she emitted on her own. He dabbed it on one of her still-taut nipples, then rubbed it slowly in while they both watched. She sucked in her breath, bit her lip. And for some reason liked the idea of having him leave part of himself behind. The emotion came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere primal that she couldn’t quite understand.

He stroked between her thighs once more, again coming up with a wet, whitish substance—and this time, he held his finger to her mouth.

Like before, she drew in her breath—but then she parted her lips, slowly let the tip of her tongue come out. He brought his finger closer still—until she licked the tip. The taste was somehow sweet yet earthy.

“How is it?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Sweet, kind of.” Then she smiled. “Like you.”

“Knock it off,” he told her teasingly, and she realized maybe a cop didn’t want to be sweet. But he was. Sometimes demanding, sometimes pushy as hell. But at his core, he was clearly a good man.

The intimacies they’d shared tonight felt . . . almost impossible to her. Two days ago, after all, she’d wanted nothing to do with him. And now, well . . . thank God he’d come into her life. Because he was making it so much better. He was helping her blend Desiree into the rest of her, something that had felt hopeless until now. She felt so . . . normal tonight. Like a normal woman having normal sex with a guy.

Only—wait, no, that wasn’t really true. Because the fact was—there was nothing normal about the sex she’d had tonight. It was . . . mind-blowing. Beyond incredible. And profoundly intimate.

“I have to work in the morning—I should go,” he said then. And she was immediately disappointed, but she understood. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for a sleepover just yet. She’d come a long distance in a short time, but she couldn’t do it all at once. So as he found his underwear and put it on, she just nodded quietly.

“Doing anything Friday night?” he asked.

She shook her head against the couch pillow.

“Want to get together?”

Another silent nod.

“Dare I suggest we eat in a restaurant or will that totally freak you out?”

His exaggerated sarcasm made her grin. “Quit acting like I’m weird.”

He grinned back. “You
are
weird. But I like you anyway.”

She lowered her chin as if challenged, but continued smiling, and said, “Fine. Pick me up at seven and we’ll go out.”

J
ake sat eating a turkey melt for lunch at Schubert’s bar on Thursday with Tommy, when his friend swiped a napkin across his mouth and said, “So you never told me how your date was the other night.”

Jake gave him a sideways look, lowering his sandwich to his plate. “I’m surprised you managed to go this long without asking.”

Tommy ignored the sarcasm and flashed a grin. “Well?”

“It was good,” Jake answered casually, then crunched down on a potato chip.

“That’s all you’re gonna tell me?”

“Yep,” Jake said. “Hate to break it to ya, but I’m not sixteen.”

Tommy made a face at the remark but remained undaunted. “So is it like I told you? Is she . . . ?”

Jake lowered his voice as he turned to Tommy. “Is she frigid? No.” Not that he really wanted to talk about Carly’s sex life with anyone, but he thought it was high time to put that particular rumor to rest.

Tom sat up a little straighter, his eyes registering his surprise. “Really? How
is
she?”

“She’s normal,” Jake said. And that wasn’t strictly true, but that was none of Tommy’s business. “She’s a normal woman. So let it go already.”

“Fine, whatever you say, ”Tommy agreed—then resumed eating his burger and fries for a minute until he suggested good-naturedly, “Maybe whenever you take me up on that lasagna offer, you can bring her. We’ll make a night of it, play some cards after dinner or something.”

Jake appreciated the change in Tom’s tone. “That sounds good,” he replied. And it did. Not exactly as exciting as his
last
two nights with Carly—but life wasn’t always about sex and excitement. Jake believed a healthy balance in all things kept a person happy. Some nights it was wild G-spot sex, other nights it was gin rummy—and that was okay.

Since his two nights with Carly, he’d thought about her a lot. Not only the good parts, but the parts he couldn’t just gloss over in his head—the whole Desiree masquerade. He hadn’t wanted to pry any more than he already had—he just wanted to enjoy seeing her transform, enjoy helping in the process. He didn’t want to become her self-appointed psychiatrist. And yet . . . what had happened? Because
something
had. You just didn’t get that hung up about sex if everything had been right in your life.

Still, maybe I should let it go. Maybe I know too much.
As a cop, there had been plenty of times when it had actually been beneficial that he could sometimes recognize such problems in people, when it had allowed him to assist someone in getting the help they needed. But maybe in everyday life it was a curse to realize, to know, something bad had to have happened to Carly. Maybe something she didn’t even remember.
Maybe it’s just enough to know you’re helping her overcome it.
He hoped he was anyway.

Just then, as he heard the front door open behind him, Frank Schubert looked up with a smile. “Hi, Carly.”