Firestorm (14 page)

Not all of him was relaxed, she realized when she looked lower and saw the hard, swollen evidence of his desire.

Fascinated, she moved to the bed and sat cross-legged beside Jake, who made no move to indicate he was aware of her presence. He was beautiful. And huge.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

82

A sudden gush of moisture bathed her tender cleft.

With her forefinger, she reached out and touched his penis. She grazed rough-soft hair that surrounded the base of him—the heavy sac that shifted against her finger—the silky smooth, pale shaft ridged with distended, blue veins.

Awed, she traced the length of him, caressed the thick, heart-shaped head that was rosier colored and even silkier in texture than the rest of his sex.

From the way her inner muscles clenched, he might have been stroking her, too, even though he hadn't moved a muscle.

She wanted to taste him. And she took his totally passive attitude as tacit permission. Bending over him, she reached out with her tongue and tasted the shiny drop of moisture that had pearled up at the very tip of his penis.

He tasted slightly salty and felt smooth as velvet to her tongue. Totally arousing.

She licked him again, this time taking the head of his penis a little way inside her mouth.

“I’ll give you about an hour to stop that,” Jake growled, and she raised her head to meet his heated gaze.

“Seriously, honey, you’d better get your gorgeous little ass up here before it’s all over but the shouting.”

With his big, rough hand, he gripped her arm and pulled until she lay on her side beside him. The heat of him, the textures of his satiny skin and crisp body hair, the steady beat of his heart against hers fed her rising passion.

“Tell me what you want.” His hot breath seared her neck.

“You. I want you,” she gasped when he found her breast and teased the nipple to attention.

She was beyond speech, beyond anything but feeling the pleasure-pain of him rolling her distended nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Beyond caring about anything except that she was slick and wet and desperate to take his hot, hard flesh into her body. To fill the emptiness inside her.

She moaned and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips and rubbing herself provocatively against his throbbing erection. When he rolled to his side, she caught him and tried to bring him back.

“You’re going too fast, honey.” His back toward her now, he fumbled under the pillow.

Before she could complain, though, he was on top of her, pinning her under the weight of his muscular body.

“You want my cock?” He rubbed himself suggestively against her before he settled into position to make them one.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

83

“You know I do. Oh, Jake. Make love to me.”

“My pleasure, honey.”

Gently spreading her outer lips and positioning himself at the core of her heat, he thrust forward and filled her.

“God, I love fucking you. You're so tight and hot and wet.”

He sank so deep inside her that his penis pressed at the mouth of her womb.

Everything went out of focus. All of her feelings centered on his body and the way he stretched and filled her. On the smooth, building rhythm of him thrusting and retreating.

In. He filled her completely. Out. He was slick, too, slick with her juices. In again.

Her nostrils flared, full of the scent of him—citrus and male musk.

The smell of sex. Of love.

He nearly withdrew. Her hands went to his hard-muscled thighs, seeking to force his return. But he was teasing her.

Instead of driving back deep inside her, he bent and traced her lips with his tongue.

She savored the taste of beignets and café au lait when his tongue plunged inside to mate with hers. Then he thrust forward and filled her once again.

Wanting to capture him forever, she wrapped her legs around his waist and flexed her muscles. Her hands dug into his broad, sweat-slick shoulders. She opened her mouth wider and sucked on his marauding tongue.

And when he rubbed his chest against her and his chest hair abraded her sensitive nipples, her safe world shattered.

He was her world: his rapacious mouth, his hard male body, his earthy taste and smell.

The rasping sounds he made and the heat in her mouth when he shared his breath with her. His hot, hard penis inside her, throbbing out its life, coaxing out the stars and sun and everything she’d ever dreamed of.

Through a haze of sensation, she felt him grow bigger and harder inside her as her muscles constricted around him. Then, as if in a frenzy, he thrust harder and faster into her sensitized flesh. Then he shuddered.

“My God, you can fuck,” he rasped out when he buried his face against her neck.

He said more, but her consciousness had deserted her.

When she woke, she half expected to be alone. But she wasn't. She smoothed the tousled sable curls off his sweaty forehead. He lay beside her, his eyes closed, a sated smile hovering at the corners of his perfectly chiseled mouth.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

84

When he opened his eyes and looked at her, his smile broadened. His dark eyes sparkled.

Did she dare hope he’d found more in her than a convenient partner to slake his carnal needs?

For a long moment, they stayed there, their eyes locked in each other’s.

Then she remembered the sponge and that she was supposed to take it out. When?

She needed to look at the directions again.

She got up and smiled down at Jake. Unable to resist, she glanced at his sex that had just given her so much pleasure. When she did, she wanted to cry. He hadn't trusted her, she realized when she noticed the ballooned-out condom that still sheathed his penis.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

85

Chapter Seven

Jake had some explaining to do.

After all, he’d let Kate think he appreciated her surprise.

And he had. After all, she must have been thinking about them fucking when she’d inserted that sponge.

Otherwise she wouldn't have come to him with that soft, starry-eyed look. And what she had done—the way she’d touched his cock with a curious finger and a flick of her wet, pink tongue—had gotten him hotter than an oil well fire.

Why hadn't he thought to get rid of the goddamn rubber before she saw it?

He stood beside the bed and shook unruly strands of hair out of his eyes. Then he peeled off the condom and tossed it in the trash, skipping his usual ritual of checking for leaks.

He had enough explaining to do without delaying any longer, so he padded to the bathroom after Kate.

“You leave it in awhile,” he said when he found her holding a thin paper instruction sheet. It pleased him that she didn’t reach for a towel to hide her nudity.

“Why? You used something anyway.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Are you afraid of catching something from me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Hell no. Don’t even think that.”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Then why did you use the condom?”

It would be easy to tell her he’d forgotten in the heat of his passion. That he’d grabbed the condom out of habit. He’d never told anyone why he was obsessed with keeping his lovers from becoming pregnant. Now, though, he found that he wanted to tell Kate.

“I swore after my divorce that I’d never again risk starting a life some woman could destroy,” he said gruffly. “And I won't. Not unless I marry again, and my wife and I decide together that we want a family.”

“I may be naive, but I know the Pill is the best kind of birth control, and that diaphragms and sponges are better at preventing pregnancy than condoms.”

“Birth control pills are better, honey, but only if the woman's actually taking them the way they're supposed to be taken. I’d argue about the diaphragms and sponges.

Still, even if they work better, they depend on a woman to use them. I use the best condoms money can buy because it’s the only way I can know for sure that I’m protected.”

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

86

“I’m sorry. I thought—oh, I don't know what I thought. Except that you’d like it better if you weren’t wearing one of those things.” Her eyes still glistened, and that made Jake feel like shit.

“I would like it better. Believe me. Wearing a condom’s like going wading wearing boots. There’s nothing I’d like more than putting my cock in your tight, wet little pussy with nothing between us. But I’m not going to take the risk.” He paused, wiped away a tear that was making its way down her cheek. “Hey, honey. It’s not you. It’s me. Me and my hang-ups, left over from a lousy marriage.”

“How long were you married?” Kate asked quietly.

“A little over eight years. We got married right after we graduated from college. It was a mistake we probably would have corrected sooner if I hadn't spent so much time out in the oil fields.”

The hand she lay on his chest felt gentle. Caring. Jake fought the desire to give his emotions free rein. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“So am I.”

At that moment, Jake wished he could kill Alice for robbing him of the ability to accept and nourish Kate's sweet, caring concern. “It’s finished now.”

And so was Jake’s capacity to give any woman the kind of love Kate obviously wanted.

“Did you lose a child?” Kate asked, her voice full of concern.

“We never had any.”

“But…you said something about destroying—”

“My wife didn’t want kids. Oh, she said at first that she’d want some eventually, but eventually never came.” Jake inhaled deeply, as if that would cleanse his mind of the horror he was about to relive. “By the time she accidentally got pregnant, our marriage was in pretty bad shape. I’d been spending a lot of time out of the country, probably more than I had to for the job. Anyway, I came home unexpectedly when she’d gotten careless with her pills. She was furious when she found out about the baby, but I was certain she’d get over it.”

Kate smiled. “You must have been thrilled.”

“Yeah. I was. For about two weeks. That’s how long it was between the time she told me she was pregnant and the night she spilled the news that she’d had an abortion and filed for divorce.”

He sensed Kate's horrified reaction, and he reached out to wipe away another tear that was making its way down her cheek. When she stood and held her arms out to him, he took a step forward and let her enfold him in a comforting embrace.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

87

“I’d be thrilled to have your baby,” she said softly, and her warm breath tickled his naked chest.

“Come here.” She led him into the bedroom. Still nude, they curled together on an antique couch. Just being close to her warmed him and soothed the pain—pain that came back with a vengeance every time he let himself think about his son or daughter that Alice had destroyed.

“Why did she do it?” Kate asked softly, her fingers making idle, soothing circles across his stomach.

“Someday, maybe I'll tell you.” He dared not risk giving Kate his full trust. Not yet.

And he wasn’t about to fall in love with her, no matter how she charged his emotions with her understanding.

Sex. That was all that fueled these tender feelings he needed to suppress.

But he could damn well indulge his cock.

Slowly, lazily, he began to stroke her. She was silky smooth all over, creamy pale against the darkness of his hands. She shuddered when he paid special attention to the sensitive spots behind her knees, the musky dampness of her inner thighs.

He’d never had a woman who responded so quickly to his simplest touch.

His balls drew up, aching as though he hadn’t just come an hour earlier. When she moaned his name, his cock turned rock-hard again.

Jake scooped Kate into his arms and lay her across the bed. Within seconds he’d sheathed himself and plunged back inside her welcoming pussy.

He moved in her, sinking slowly into her tight, wet heat then retreating only to slide back deeper when she clamped her legs around his ass and whimpered for more.

When he took one hardened nipple into his mouth and sucked it while lightly pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger, she sank her fingers into his hair, pressing his cheek into a satiny breast.

She felt good. Too good. But it was sex. The primal need to lose himself inside a warm, willing body and spurt out his seed. Only sex and nothing more.

Slowly. He felt his climax coming for more long, slow thrusts than he could count.

Felt her pussy contracting around his cock, her wetness bathing his balls. Still he held back, wanting to prolong the pleasure, make her scream out again with delight.

Shifting slightly to one side, he slipped a hand between their bodies and tweaked her clit.

“Oh, Jake. Yesss.”

He rammed his cock inside her to the hilt and let her pussy milk him dry.

Ann Jacobs

Firestorm

88

Buried inside her, coming and coming and coming, Jake had no trouble concentrating on sex and sensation, ignoring emotions he wasn’t ready to explore.

When it was over and he withdrew from her soft, warm haven, however, unwelcome thoughts returned.

As he stood at the vanity watching the water wash away his semen from a condom, long-suppressed dreams flooded his mind. Against his will, he imagined a dark-haired boy. A petite honey-haired girl with Alice’s pale, stunning beauty. His baby would have had its second birthday by now. For what had to be the millionth time he cursed the woman who had denied it life.

Stalking back to the bedroom, he stared at Kate. She said she’d love to have his baby. His balls tightened at the memory. And at the sight of her, so innocent-looking and yet so wanton, with her soft, dark curls askew against a snowy pillowcase.

He focused on her small, high breasts and soft, flat belly. Despite himself, he imagined that belly growing rounder, distended with his seed.

Recalling how his sisters had looked when they’d nursed their babies, he pictured Kate’s breasts heavy, blue-veined, the nipples leaking pale fluid to sustain his son or daughter. Jake smiled.