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Her nipples were hard and bright, making him so hungry to come that he could barely breathe. “Oh, this is so good, baby. So good. Are you close?”
Her eyes squeezed tighter. “Yes. Yes. Almost there. Go, um, go on ahead.”
His hips hitched again. Jay stilled for a moment, then shit, it dawned on him. She thought he’d been prepared to take his pleasure and leave her behind.
“I can help you, baby.” He was feeling more than a little annoyed. What kind of selfish dude did she consider him? “I was planning on doing my part here.”
“Huh?” Complete confusion.
Oh, geez. Like missionary alone could easily get a girl off. Though he’d figured it out himself years ago, NYFM ran articles on sex every month and at least six times a year busted that myth. And yeah, that was a men’s magazine, but didn’t women ever talk amongst themselves? Say, during that knitting night thing?
Surely some grandmother type, while stitching a lace cap or something, could take it upon herself to expound on the benefits of clitoral stimulation?
Though still embedded in Nikki’s sweet, hot pussy, he lifted to his knees. Her thighs fell open. He brought two fingers to his mouth, licked the pads, then stretched them toward the swollen button that needed a more direct touch to send her flying.
Her eyes still closed, Nikki clenched around his cock. “Jay?” Her voice sounded strained and she tightened on him again. “Jay?”
His hand halted as more pieces of the puzzle sorted themselves. The closed eyes, the desperate body language, not to mention the expression she wore that was more like someone getting through something, rather than someone getting off.
“Baby. Nikki. Do you know how to come?”
“What?” Her eyes opened to the merest slits. “Yes. Of course.”
Liar.
“Do what I say.” He lifted her hand to her mouth. “Wet your fingers.”
She hesitated.
He touched them to her lips. “Wet your fingers.”
Her pink tongue emerged and his body reacted, pushing forward with a shallow thrust as the twin sacks between his legs tightened. He swallowed his groan. “Wetter. Stick out your tongue and get them really wet.”
Watching her do as instructed was punishment for any prior bad acts, he swore to God. He panted through it, and when two of Nikki’s fingers gleamed with moisture, he drew back, then pushed himself into her body at the same time that he brought her hand down to her clitoris.
She gasped. Her body arched. He thrust again as he directed her fingers. A circle. A short stroke. Another circle.
Another thrust.
Oh, God. It was incredible. Unbelievable. The memory of every damn sexcapade in his past faded against this—of feeling Nikki, of tutoring Nikki, of watching her face as the pleasure moved beyond good to better, to soooo damn close.
That’s what she was saying with those little sounds from the back of her throat. So close. And he lapped up every passionate noise and every amazing change to her face, free to watch her like a freakin’ voyeur because he could, because she had her eyes squeezed shut again.
It was oddly freeing to realize he didn’t need to worry about keeping his cool, even as the top of his head was getting ready to blow from watching this woman learn how to get herself off with his help.
He pulled out of her, all the way to the tip, mesmerized by the wet gloss of her arousal on his shaft. Then he moved in again, watching her body swallow him as his dark, big hand made her smaller one play again with that upstanding bud at the top of her cleft. His spine tingled as his balls drew tight.
“Jay?”
Oh, Christ. She wanted to talk? He didn’t have any words left, not when it was all he could do to keep himself from exploding right this instant. Yet he found his voice. “Cookie.”
Okay, just the one word.
“Jay?”
And then he smiled, because he realized what she wanted. “Go ahead, cookie. Go ahead and come.”
And he pulled out again and then moved deep, his gaze trained on her face. She quivered, lifting into his thrust, and as he watched her body start to tremble, her eyes flew open.
His cock erupted. His heart shook like an earthquake. The hand that wasn’t on hers grasped the back of the sofa to ride out the rocking and rolling world and all the while he was conscious of not only the incredible, screaming pleasure, but that blue and that green pair of bruja eyes.
I don’t know whether I’m going to sink or fly.
When it was over—minutes? months? later—as his heart continued to thunder, he pulled away and turned her on her side, making room for both of them on the couch. She wiggled against him and he slid his fingers, still damp from her, against the warmth of her thigh. She sighed.
Contented?
God, he hoped so. God, he hoped he’d given her what she needed.
Safe place. Safe partner.
But now that it was done, now that his blood was still running like a drug through his veins, he had to wonder whether Nikki was safe at all.
For him.
Thirteen
I cried on my eighteenth birthday. I thought seventeen was such a nice age. You’re young enough to get away with things, but you’re old enough, too.
—LIV TYLER, ACTRESS
Fern tossed the steaming brownie from hand to hand, cooling it before biting it in two. It melted on her tongue and bathed her back molars in grainy chocolate before she swallowed it down. Even as she popped the other half in her mouth, she was already reaching for a second straight out of the pan.
Beside her on the bed, Marie was closing her eyes in dreamy appreciation of the undercooked dessert they’d pulled out of the oven ten minutes too soon. “The gooiest ones in the middle are my favorite,” she said. “Better than sex.”
“Really?” Too late, Fern realized she’d spoken the question out loud.
Marie’s eyes widened and her hand paused, a brownie halfway to her mouth. “You and Jenner?”
The Veronica Mars marathon they were watching on TV switched away to commercials and Fern pretended to care about the latest hair remover. After all, she wore short shorts.
With her French-pedicured big toe, Marie nudged Fern’s ankle. “You can’t leave it like that. I figured…”
Fern shook her head, still watching the long-legged girl on the screen dance under a disco ball. The guy watching her spin looked as if he wanted to lick her bare limbs like a Popsicle. Eww.
Marie wasn’t letting the subject go. “Not with anyone?”
Again, Fern shook her head, then pinched her thigh as punishment. Stupid self. How could she have been so careless as to give that much away?
Except she wasn’t careless. She never had been. That was part of the whole problem. Now that she was feeling just a little bit careless and a whole lot reckless, there wasn’t a single Two Shoe available to discuss it with—at least not one who she could talk to about the subject of sex.
Marie might have to do.
She sent the other teenager a sidelong look as she reached for the pan again. “What about you?”
The girl waved her brownie, scattering chocolate crumbs on the paper napkin she’d spread over her lap. “Sure. I had a boyfriend at the end of last year. He moved in June, though. Las Vegas.”
Fern picked up her own napkin and started pleating it into an origami shape she thought she remembered learning in fourth grade summer day camp. “Jenner wants me to sneak out and meet him tonight.”
An hour ago, Marie had braided her hair into a dozen dark tails and now the rubber-banded ends flew out as she whipped her head toward Fern. “Tonight?”
The brownies no longer seemed so irresistible to Fern. Her stomach twisted, protesting the chocolate rush—or at least that’s what she told herself it was protesting—and she pushed the pan closer to Marie. “I haven’t decided.”
“He’s gorgeous,” the other girl said, digging free another chewy square. “And there’s plenty of other girls willing to give it up to him if you won’t.”
“Marie!” Fern frowned. “Didn’t you outgrow that argument freshman year? We don’t give it up for a guy just because if we don’t, we’ll lose him.”
“It’s true, though.” Marie peeled off a piece of the brownie’s shiny top and then licked it off her thumb. “Guys are like that.”
“Not all guys—”
“Yep. Pretty much all guys. Think about it. You’re a raging male hormone. On the one hand, you have that nice girl with her legs crossed tighter than a pretzel. On the other, you have that nice girl who isn’t holding out for…what are girls holding out for anyway?”
“Nice girls don’t—”
Marie looked up. “Just because a girl has sex doesn’t make her a slut.”
“I know.” Fern thought she wanted sex, and that wasn’t so much different than actually having it, right? They’d read about former President Jimmy Carter in Advanced Placement U.S. History last year. He’d shocked the American public by admitting he lusted in his heart for women other than his wife.
Okay, so Carter was president like a hundred years ago, but people probably still considered that heart lust thing this close to doing the deed itself.
So if what she felt in Jenner’s arms was what she thought—well, there was no sweet-faced former First Lady Rosalynn Carter to keep Fern from taking her lust out of the four-chambered organ in her chest and putting it into real action.
