Ahead in the Heat (8 page)

G
od, Annie felt high. She’d smoked pot exactly once, when she’d visited friends at UC Santa Cruz. It had been her freshman year, when she was still dealing with the fallout of walking away from a pro surfing career. And yeah,
dealing with it
had mostly meant reordering her own oddly broken brain and trying to make sense of what had happened.

She hadn’t liked being high. She’d felt out of control, and fuzzy at the edges, as if she’d been erased just a tiny bit. It had been her control issues at work, probably. But she’d never forgotten how particular and individual that feeling was. Nothing had come close to it.

Until now.

The second she called Sean a good boy, he laughed and jackknifed up. All that power, all that strength and the muscle under her thighs, bent up at once. She was lifted off her knees, but he had her safe when he wrapped an arm low around her ass. He was laughing, but she knew calling him a
good
boy
was pushing him too far. She was laughing too, because when amusement was a man’s response to something so ridiculous, she felt . . . safe.

She wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders. “No.” She giggled. “You promised.”

“Oh, you can blow me, sugar.” He buried chuckles against the top of her sternum, his mouth leaving traces of sensation in its wake. “But not with names like that. I draw the line.”

“You’re putting your foot down?” she teased. “Blow jobs on your terms only?”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants it. I was offering my own oral sex.”

“Were you? I missed that?” Except she hadn’t. When he’d been on his knees in front of her, she’d known exactly where things were headed. This wasn’t her first rodeo.

But it was the first time she’d felt so blurry. So out of control.

She wedged her hands against his shoulders, and took a moment to appreciate how damn hard he was. Her fingertips were hooked behind the caps of his shoulders. Pure muscle. She held back against the hot surge that went through her.

He was so damn gorgeous, it was unfair. He twisted the two of them around so that his shoulders were resting against the end of the bed. He was a swoop of muscle, a comma made of temptation.

That he was still wearing pants was unfair. She fumbled with his belt, and the smooth leather slipped free eventually. The button went next, and she could barely hear the teeth of the zipper beyond her own raspy breathing. When she wrapped her grip around the waistband of his pants and pulled, he helped by lifting his hips, which made the
muscles of his chest and arms and shoulders bulk out even more.

He was built. She sometimes forgot that for brief seconds because he was also lean and graceful, but his muscles stood out in stark relief. Holding his body weight up on one hand next to his hip in order to let her pull his clothes off—that did it. His shoulder had to be tender still, but he wasn’t letting that affect him.

He could probably hurt her. Physically. He could hold her down and take what he wanted. He might not even break a sweat while he did it either, despite his limited range of movement on his bad shoulder. She could fight back and probably could make a little dent in him. She wasn’t completely helpless. But he had ten inches and sixty pounds on her, and if he used them in any negative way, she’d be screwed.

Yet she wasn’t frightened of him at all. He was just this side of harmless, only dangerous enough to make a woman know it would be a hell of a ride. He wouldn’t dream of hurting her; she knew that from the way he studied her, the careful way his gaze had tracked her every movement at first. The fact that he’d tried to resist her.

His briefs were shorter than boxer briefs, but longer than tighty-whities. The dark gray material clung to his narrow hips. She traced her blunt fingernails across the top band. “What are these?”

His brows lifted in the center when he chuckled. “Underwear. You’re wearing some too.”

“No, I’m wearing panties.” She lifted on her knees enough that his mouth was almost level with said panties. She cupped her hand over her body,
pressing against the tingling ache. The last time she’d been
this
damn turned on had been . . . never. “You’re wearing something else.”

The thin material stretched so tightly over his cock that she could see the outline of his head, the fullness of his shaft. She squeezed him, gently at first. Then a little harder when he sucked in a harsh gasp. She liked that. Holding him, holding herself, listening to the little noises they passed back and forth.

“You can call them whatever you want. Just keep doing that.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He groaned. His hand lifted to the edge of the bed, beside his head. In that position, his arm looked even bigger. Crisp, dark hair dusted his armpit. He was a man. No boy. All big and bold, just like the cock in her hand. But even though his hand fisted in the blanket, he didn’t say a word of protest. He nodded. Sure, it looked like he’d had to force his neck to bend, but he still got out a nod.

“I wanna lick you. I wanna feel you in my mouth and taste you.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. Then again, and again.

She pulled his briefs free, and he was so gorgeous. His shaft overspilled her hands. The flush, red head had a gleaming drop of precome at the very end.

Ducking her head, she created a private world for herself. Her hair slipped down to shield her from his gaze, and so her eyes could drift shut when she licked him clean. Bright and salty moisture. She liked the taste of him as she pushed farther, licking around that ridge between head and shaft.

Licking the webbing there made his hips twitch. Just as quickly, he yanked himself down again. He was so tense, the arrows of muscle going from his waist to his groin popped. She traced him with her nails, then the tips of her fingers. He had rougher skin than she did, a little hair too. She liked it that way. She liked knowing he was a man who held himself contained for her.

A thick ridge ran up the underside of his cock. She rubbed it with the flat of her tongue in long strokes, then longer. Up his whole length. He tasted like a hint of salt, like the ocean infused him. He lived for it, lived for the water and surfing. She wanted to see him there. If he could really make magic, maybe he could carry her away.

She filled herself with him. Both hands wrapped around his length, she opened her mouth over his tip and took him in. But when she looked up, she couldn’t see him past the curtain of her hair. Suddenly she didn’t want to be safe. Didn’t want to hide.

What she needed was to see his face when he gave a low, tortured groan.

She released him from her lips with a sucking pop. After one quick lave of her tongue across the thin slit decorated with wetness, she flicked her hair back over her shoulder. His fingers were gentle when he tucked a slick sheaf of hair behind her ear.

“You’re really good at that,” he said with a low voice. His eyes were burning hot. She felt more solid, connected to her body in a way she hadn’t had in a long time. He had done that. He had done that
for
her. With the astonished, enticed way he stared at her.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Women she didn’t want to think about. Tall, gorgeous things who had probably rolled and posed all around the bed behind him. Hell, they’d probably strutted naked all through his house. The women he’d been photographed with were always the tall, leggy type. Blondes with more hair than Annie would know what to do with.

She refocused on him, wrapping her hand around his thickness, stroking up through the wetness left by her mouth and his eagerness. Each stroke made muscles in his stomach shift and tighten. Each individual section of abs stood out.

“You’re better than any of the other girls.” Sean stroked her hair, then turned his hand over and traced her jaw with a soft, gentle touch. She couldn’t help the quiet noise she gave, the way she leaned into his hand.

“At least you’re not a liar,” she said. But then she dipped her head again, took him into her mouth. Distracting them both. She was about as transparent as a pane of glass.

Hell if she didn’t love the way she held him. Touched him. She’d needed this. There was power in it, in the way he was leashed and tied and holding himself down.

She sucked him deep, then deeper. He was skin
and flesh. Swollen with interest. Quiet moans filled her ears, delving down into her body. Her chest clenched first, then her stomach, and finally the wet and aching flesh between her own thighs.

Her fingers crept into her panties. She didn’t want him to notice, because this was all so new and strange and she’d never been this turned on from giving head. But when her gaze flicked up, she knew he’d seen. His blue went hazy. His eyes first locked on her shoulder, then traveled down to the line of her hand behind her thin panties.

She touched three fingers to her clit, pressing against the throb that was tied to her rushing heartbeat. He was firm between her lips. There was so much wetness, it slicked her fingers and made the way she touched herself send shivers under her skin.

Annie barely felt attached to her own body. Her eyes drifted shut. Sean throbbed in her mouth. She throbbed under her own fingers. The rhythm she found was fast and unrelenting. Her free hand followed her mouth, adding an extra layer of sensation into each stroke over him.

At first, she thought the roar in her ears was only the pulsing, pounding force of her blood. She had nothing left in her brain but him, nothing left to think of but the way he tasted and the way her finger circled her clit to wind her tighter. She went up and up, and his gentle touch on her shoulders only pushed her up higher.

Even the way he cupped her shoulder was reverent. His fingers stroked across the back of her neck, and her spine curled with tingles and shivers. She
was on her knees, curled over his torso, her fingers hidden between her thighs.

So much of this was new to her. Not the particular actions, but in the way he made her dizzy. She was high on endorphins, probably, but that was fine. Better than fine. She needed this. Needed a chance like this, to feel as stupid and giddy and ridiculous as any other woman her age.

He cupped her jaw. Not restricting, just feeling her. His thumb rubbed over and over her cheek where it hollowed from holding him and sucking him. “Right there,” he breathed. “Like that. Harder. Can you go deeper?”

She wouldn’t have thought she could have, but she tried for him. His head stroked over the top of her mouth. She breathed through her nose, let her eyes close. His expression was enough to send her over, but she actually didn’t
want
to come. Not yet.

She took him deeper. Enough that he brushed the back of her throat. Her eyes burned, and God, that was all it took. She couldn’t hold off her own pleasure any longer. It broke like shards, each burst of her heartbeat slamming more sensation through her. Her pussy clenched, even as her toes curled. Her hand tightened on the base of his shaft and his hair was crisp against her palm. This was more than sex; she was free.

They were free. Together.

Tomorrow there might be hell to pay, but for now . . . oh, for now there was his exploding flavor across her tongue. The way his cock got a fraction bigger in her mouth and her hand and the way she swallowed him down. His hips thrust up for the first
time, and he pushed deeper in her mouth and she didn’t care. She loved it. There was no boundary too far at the moment, no place she couldn’t follow him.

Nothing she wouldn’t give him.

S
ean’s spine had been ripped out and seared to ash. He was breathing as hard as if he’d been deep in the tube of a perfect curl, all hard work and balanced timing. One hand still framed the back of Annie’s head. Her fine silk hair tangled in his fingers. His other hand was locked tight in the woven blanket hanging off the end of the bed. Sweat prickled at the base of his spine.

That had been one of the best orgasms of his life. Maybe the best.

The physics were the usual. He couldn’t even say what it was that had made her so damn good. The way she seemed so tentative at first, as if she were practically new at it. Her later enthusiasm, maybe. “That wasn’t the first time you’d given head, was it?”

She slumped to her stomach, her cheek pillowed on his thigh. He traced the bones between her shoulder blades. “If it was, would you have done anything differently?”

A breeze worked over his skin. He rubbed his knuckles down the center of his chest and cracked a yawn. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

Laughing, she buried her face against his thigh. “Good to know, Westin.”

“What can I say?” He liked the feel of her. Maybe she was small, but there was a lot of her packed into such a little bit of a human. Even her back was firm and smooth under his fingertips as he kept petting her. “I’m a gentleman.”

“You should feed me, then. Offering a guest a meal and all.”

It was the middle of the afternoon. Sean hadn’t eaten lunch either. Maybe not even breakfast, since things had been a little hazy. He’d been hip deep in phone calls, attempting to figure out who was heading the mythic documentary. Talking to his business manager and coach. It had only been after they’d washed out that he’d come up with the idea of going to Tanner. Thank Christ for that, since he’d been the one to point out that Sean might want to look for the source of the stories, instead of just trying to find the person doing the research.

Result was, Sean was starving. “I know exactly where we should go.”

She twisted onto her back, stretching. She’d never even taken off her bra and panties, though the front of the latter was dampened through. Her rib cage lifted toward the ceiling and her stomach dipped. “I think you should bring me food. Considering what I just did for you and all. We could call it tribute.”

He pushed to his feet and held his hands out. “Nope. Come on, Baxter. What we’re after doesn’t travel well.”

She rolled her eyes, but she put her hands in his instantly. After he hauled her to her feet, he locked one arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss
on her temple. “That was . . . Thanks, Annie. Thank you.”

She swatted his shoulder and twisted away, grabbing her khakis. “You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” She flashed a smile over her shoulder, but he didn’t think it matched her eyes. “That’s not what we’re after here.”

He watched her while she pulled the shorts up over her hips. Even though her ass bounced with particularly pert enticement, he wasn’t buying the extra swish. She was fronting, and hard. Maybe she didn’t want insta-serious, but this had to have some kind of weight behind it for her to risk her business. Her reputation pivoted on her professionalism and the results her clients could rely on. Throwing it away for a quick bang that wasn’t even an actual bang didn’t seem likely. Didn’t seem logical, for that matter. Why risk everything?

But if she wanted to play like that, he’d let her. He knew about keeping things close to the vest. “We’re after lunch.”

“Is it still lunchtime? I’m pretty sure this is a dinner date by now.” She shrugged into her T-shirt, and he scooped up a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Impulsively, as soon as he had them on and zipped, though not buttoned, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her close enough to wrap a hold across the back of her neck. He kissed her deeply. Because he wanted to. Because she was Annie and they’d done something mind-blowingly intimate minutes ago, but she was still so damn laid back
about whether they were even going on a date. “Yeah. Dinner date for sure.”

She looped her forearm across his back and leaned up toward him. She nuzzled the underside of his jaw, her lips soft. “You’re paying for mine, then.”

“Of course I am. You fired me as a client. Saved me a boatload of money.”

He took her to Manny’s, a bar and grill a couple blocks north on the beach. This early in the spring, not as many tourists filled the outdoor patio as they would in July. Instead, the balance went the other way, with locals sitting at butcher-block tables inside. Still, Annie and Sean were able to find an empty booth near an open window.

When Annie slid in first, he promptly dropped in beside her. He pressed close so their shoulders brushed, their knees touching.

“You have personal-space issues.” Annie leaned against the back of the booth. Her head tipped so far that her face pointed up toward the ceiling. She looked dead relaxed. Probably the orgasm. Shame Sean hadn’t been the one to give it to her.

That’d have to change next time. “Considering where our body parts were thirty minutes ago, I think maybe it’s you with the personal-space issues.”

She laughed and ran both hands through her hair. She’d put her T-shirt back on, but he knew what was underneath there now. Modest underwear and a body made for sinning. “You have no idea, actually. I have so many issues, I need a monthly subscription.”

“Tell me one.” He hooked an elbow on the table.
The breeze wafting through the windows was crisp with salt. The fact that it was coming into shore from the ocean meant that there was awful white-water froth on the waves. Hence, so many locals in the restaurant. They were all waiting for an offshore. This was San Sebastian, after all. Only had to wait a little bit and the surfing conditions would turn from good to awesome.

She shook her head, her smile going wider. “No way.”

“Why not?” He grinned at her, then slipped his hand onto her thigh beneath the line of the table. His fingers flirted with the hem of her shorts. The skin of her inner thighs was thin and delicate. “I’ve trusted you with my most favorite body part. You’ve put me through two-hour workouts to strengthen my shoulder. You can trust me too.”

“You have a point.” She didn’t pull away from his touch, but she didn’t exactly purr under his attention either. Her smile was more dark and mysterious than coquettish. She wasn’t exactly the flirting type.

Which was exactly why he’d been so damn shocked when she’d tossed it all over in order to play with his cock. He had a decent ego, but that was simply ridiculous. “We’ll play tit for tat.”

“I think that’s what we just did.”

He mimed a drum rim shot, but that only made her stick her tongue out at him. He liked her. The snarky, subtle flavor of her personality was one he hadn’t tasted in a long time. Before he had a chance to push further, the waitress stood at the end of the table. She had a little pad of paper, a pen, and a smile
that was about as fake as the racks on Sean’s usual girls.

“What can I get you?”

Annie leaned around Sean. “A menu might be nice.”

“You mean a drink menu?” The waitress tossed a thick sheaf of hair back over her shoulder. The tangled, tousled look and damp roots said she was probably a surfer when she wasn’t waiting tables.

“I was promised food,” Annie said to Sean. “Your batting average is dropping.”

“There’s no menu here.” He hooked his arms across the back of the booth. “It’s either wings, and then there’s only hot or hotter, or fish tacos done Manny’s way.”

He was kind of curious how well Annie would deal with this. She didn’t always seem to be the loose and roll-with-it kind of girl. She liked things the way she liked them. There wasn’t always much middle ground.

Lots of women wouldn’t like Manny’s. In fact, Sean had only ever brought a woman here once and that had been a complete accident. He’d picked up a chick at a martini bar, only to realize she lived two houses down from Manny’s and had never been. Sean had been so astonished that he’d insisted on going—only to spend the next hour swamped by
subtle whining and mock surprise that a San Sebastian bar would be so down-market.

Annie speared him with a single, searing look. “Do you swear I won’t get food poisoning?”

He traced two fingers over his chest, then held them up. “I swear it on my history as a Boy Scout.”

“I’ll take the fish tacos, then.” He liked the way her mouth tweaked up into one of her little smiles as she leaned her elbows on the table. She was a go-to sort of girl after all.

“Good choice. I’ll have them too.”

It didn’t take long before the waitress was back again, this time carrying two plates that looked more like trenchers than china. They were dark wood, lined with time-tempered metal and each piled with half a dozen tiny tacos. She set them down, along with the sodas they’d also ordered and a stack of napkins two inches thick. “Enjoy.”

“Dude, I plan to.” Annie’s eyes were wide. “These look great.”

Each taco was only the size of Sean’s palm. The fish was seared and grilled, with cabbage and Manny’s secret dressing—which Sean was pretty sure had something to do with yogurt and coriander and a half dozen other herbs and spices. “Manny grows the tomatoes in a rooftop garden.”

Annie glanced up toward the ceiling, her expression doubtful. “Here? On a commercial property?”

“Yeah, his apartment is upstairs. The garden’s on the roof. He throws wicked parties up there sometimes.” Sean took a sip of his soda, leaning back in the booth. “Try it.”

Annie wasted no time in obeying. The tacos were a little gooey, causing white sauce to dribble out the back. But the first bite made her eyes drift shut and her cheeks soften in bliss. “Oh. Oh, that’s really good.”

“Good. Now I can tell you that I was never a Boy Scout.”

“I know.” She licked a bit of sauce off her pinkie.

“You did not.” He scooped up his own taco, inhaling half in one bite. Spice exploded across his tongue, clearing out his sinuses.

Her smile was supremely confident. “Did too.”

“I could have been an Eagle Scout and you’d have no idea.”

“You weren’t.” She kept tucking into her food as they teased. He liked a girl who could eat, and in Annie’s case, that was especially respectable, considering her size. She couldn’t afford to lose any calories. “In fact,” she continued, “I’d bet you were the type of kid who avoided any organized sports or groups.”

“You’re right.” He wiped his hands with a napkin, slowly getting each of his palms. “I grew up rough, actually. Mom discouraged joining . . . eh, she discouraged joining anything, pretty much.”

“How about your dad?”

“Gone.” He gave his best rakish grin, the one that had dropped panties worldwide. He knew he was good-looking. Hard to be in magazines and ads without recognizing that on some level. Sean’s mom had always said his looks came from his dad, though. “You’re looking at the bona fide product of a
one-night stand. Old-school bar-style pickup, to boot. Mom never knew his last name.”

“Ouch.” Annie put her hand on his knee, and the simple gesture oddly eased the sting. “Did you have a good mom, at least?”

“Nope,” he said with an artificial injection of cheeriness. “She was batshit crazy. I loved her lots, but she was completely around the bend.”

Annie’s eyes went wide. She breathed his name and her fingers tightened on his leg. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to say that much. There was something about simply
being
with Annie that made everything easier. And made keeping secrets harder.

But he couldn’t stand the pain on her face. It was totally time for distraction mode. “Whatever, though. How did you know I wasn’t a Boy Scout? Don’t I have an honest face?”

She studied him for another long, quiet moment, but apparently decided to give him a minute and let the subject drop. “The Boy Scout salute is done with three fingers raised.” She demonstrated, holding up her three middle fingers and folding down her thumb and pinkie in the direct opposite of a surfer’s
hang loose
gesture. “Not two.”

“Damn. Guess that Eagle Scout dream is shot.”

Just like his chance of holding his past private would be shot if he didn’t get something done about those rumors.