Baddest Bad Boys (4 page)

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. That’s ridiculous.”

“And furthermore. If you’re stupid enough to actually give a shit about a chick that you’ve de-virginized, she’ll tear you to pieces the minute she starts wondering what she’s missing with other guys.”

“Well.” She harrumphed. “That’s hardly relevant in our case—”

“They can’t help it,” he went on. “And I don’t blame them for it, either. It’s just natural curiosity. Everybody needs a wide range of sexual experience to find out what they like. What works for them. But that’s when guy number one gets fucked up the ass. Bummer for him.”

Robin left a delicate pause. “I have a feeling you could provide a pretty broad range of experience all by yourself,” she murmured.

He shook his head stubbornly. “If a guy is stupid enough to do a virgin, he has to be calculated about it. Cold. Pop ’em and drop ’em.”

She let out a snort of startled laughter. “That’s so crass.”

“You bet it is. See why it’s not in your best interests?”

“No, I don’t, Jon. That’s literally what I was asking you to do!”

“Pop you and drop you? Are you fucking nuts?” He stared into her eyes until her gaze dropped. “You know damn well I can’t do that.”

She stared down into her plate. “It just seemed so simple to me,” she muttered rebelliously.

“It’s not simple when sex is mixed into it. Not going to happen.”

“You don’t have to tell me a tenth time,” she snapped. “I heard you the first nine times. You don’t want me. Fine. So just let me leave!”

“Uh-uh, Robin.” His voice was flat and matter of fact. “The question is not ‘do I want to fuck you.’ Of course I want to fuck you. Any guy with a pulse would want to fuck you.”

She blinked into his intense gaze for a startled moment. She jerked her eyes away and gulped her beer, starting to blush hotly. “Um. Really. That, uh, hasn’t really been my experience so far, but thanks.”

“The question is whether I want to deal with the catastrophe that will crash down on me afterwards,” he went on.

She let out a sharp sigh. “Well, then. No wonder I stayed untouched for so long. Men wilt before my catastrophic—”

“No,” he said. “Wilting is definitely not my problem.”

Excitement vibrated inside her. Um, wow. This was clearly the part where she should tease, seduce, or trick him into doing what she wanted. But she was so not a tricky girl. What-you-see-is-what-you-get Robin, that was her. She pushed her empty plate away, and blurted, “Does this mean you’re considering it? Or are you just torturing me?”

“Neither,” he said blandly. “I’m just telling you how it is. Nothing has changed.”

Her heart sank. That was disheartening, but she decided to be cautiously optimistic. After all, Danny hadn’t called back yet. She had til then to cajole Jon into changing his mind.

“Get enough to eat?” He polished off his steak juice with a hunk of bread, eyeing her emptied plate. “You need some more?”

“No, thanks, I’m good,” she said. “You’re a good cook.”

“If I keep it simple. Want to wash the dishes, or build the fire?”

Hah. No-brainer. She grinned at him. “I’ll make the fire.”

He looked hurt. “Hey! What the hell? I cooked!”

“I did the salad,” she pointed out.

“You juggled the salad,” he grumbled. “You mangled the salad. Before risking my life with the knife. That doesn’t count as helping.”

Robin ignored that, and lit another kerosene lamp. She carried it into the living room and got busy at the fireplace. The sound of clanking of pots floated in from the kitchen as she assembled kindling.

By the time Jon came in, she had a nice fire crackling in the grate, and he was drying his hands on the legs of his jeans, looking put upon. She stifled a giggle. Just like her brothers. Men and dishes.

“Jon?” she ventured. “What I said, about going to a club to pick up a guy? I just want you to know…that I wouldn’t. I just said it because I was angry. So there’s no need to get Danny and Mac all riled up. Mac’s short on sleep anyway, what with the twins. So I’ll just—”

“You’re not going anywhere. It’s pitch dark, on a washboard road with hairpin curves, and you’ve got a beer in you. You’re sleeping here.”

She stood, brushing bark dust off her hands. “Don’t muscle me around. I get enough from Mac and Danny. I don’t need it from you.”

“You picked out the wrong guy to throw yourself at, then,” he said curtly. “Sit your ass down. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

She fell into the couch, twisting handfuls of the mildewed shirt. He sat next to her, bowing the springs into a deep well, hands resting on his thighs. His profile was so stark. Carved cheekbones, that grim, sexy mouth. God, she loved that bump on his nose. Always had.

“There’s something I want to know,” he said slowly.

“If it’s sexual in nature, I don’t want to tell you,” she said swiftly.

He slanted her a glance. “You’re the one who set the tone for the evening when you invited me to pop your cherry,” he observed.

“Don’t remind me. It’s indelicate,” she said tartly. “Besides, you turned me down flat. So you have no right to keep harping on it.”

“Exactly how much of a virgin are you?” he asked baldly.

She squinted at him, uncomprehending. “Huh? You mean, there are degrees? It’s not quantitative, Jon. You are or you aren’t.”

“There are always degrees,” he said. “How about oral? Done it?”

She pulled her knees to her chest, muscles clenching around the rush of startled arousal that the question had provoked. “Nope.”

“You mean, you’ve never given it, or you’ve never gotten it?”

“Neither one,” she said. “Strange, but true.”

He let out a low whistle. “Ever jerked a guy off?”

She covered her pinkening face. “Ah, no.”

“Finger fucking?” he went on. “Has any guy ever made you come?”

She thought about it, biting her lip. “Well…there was this party in college once. I drank too much, and passed out on a pile of coats. And when I woke up, this guy I barely knew had his hand in my underwear. It was really gross. So I guess that doesn’t count.”

“I guess not.” His face was hard. “What did you do?”

“Screamed,” she admitted. “Kicked him.”

“Good,” he said savagely. “Asshole. I’m glad you woke up when you did. Who was the shit?”

“Who cares?” she asked.

“I do,” he said. “Guys who molest unconscious girls deserve to be neutered. To improve the quality of the human gene pool.”

“Oh.” She peeked at his profile. “I don’t remember his name.”

The fire crackled. Crazy shadows from the flickering lamp roamed over the walls. She stared at the stark planes and shadows of his face, and wondered if she should read any softening of his position into all these sexually charged questions. She didn’t know him that well, in spite of having a crush on him for fourteen years.

But hell with it. He’d had a little time to get used to the shocking idea. And he was asking questions that made her thighs tingle and her face turn pink. What did she have to lose? Why not just…try again?

More aggressively, this time. Men were simple physical creatures, or so she’d been told. In thrall to their own bodies. Stimulus equals response. The only problem now was that she was too scared to move.

For God’s sake. She wasn’t asking him to marry her. She wanted what he gave a different woman every week. No big fucking deal. Really.

She got up, pulled off the sweatshirt, and felt his tension rise.

“Put that right back on,” he said softly.

She spun, with a burst of fierce resolve, planted her knee next to him and swung the other over his lap. He made a shocked sound, and tried to wrestle her off. She countered by putting her weight on his crotch. His fingers tightened on her arms. “What the fuck is this?”

“I just want to convince you that it’s worth the catastrophe.”

He caught his breath as she undulated on his lap. “Oh, God.”

“It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “Don’t worry. You’re absolved of blame. I jumped you. There was nothing you could do.”

“Bullshit! I outweigh you by at least eighty pounds! Get off me!”

She took a deep breath, arched her back, popped open the buttons on her chemise top. One…then two…three. It gaped.

He stared down at her, his breathing quickening. “Oh, Jesus.”

She shrugged the garment off. “You don’t have to go all the way, if you’re so anxious,” she coaxed. “But could you reduce my virgin status by a few dinky, insignificant percentage points? Is it so much to ask?”

His hands were shaking. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“No? Why not?” She cuddled closer. “Just touch me. Please, Jon.”

She pried his hands off her arms. His fingers had left marks. She dropped soothing kisses on his hands, uncurled the clawed fingers, and pressed them against her breasts. He made a harsh, gasping sound.

She gasped, went motionless. She’d been so focused on getting this far with him, she’d lost sight of her feelings. The fear, the hunger. The electric touch of his hot, callused hands made full awareness come roaring back. And the movements she made against his body were far from calculated now. They were involuntary.

Jon put both hands on her breasts, cupping them. He ran his thumbs around her taut nipples, and made a low, tortured sound.

Then he leaned forward and put his mouth to her.

3

Stop. Just stop it. Put her perfect squirming ass somewhere other than right on top of your dick. Then go fall face first into the snowmelt, and cool…the fuck…down. Now.

The orders weren’t making it to command central, though, and this crazy thing was picking up momentum while the rational, adult choice maker inside him watched, tied and gagged.

Her tits were perfect. The springy softness and those puckered nipples, the sinuous way she moved, oh, Jesus. So sexy. So silky and smooth and gorgeous. Too much. He was on overload.

She cradled his head in her slender arms, whimpering, her slender body shivering at each hungry stroke of his tongue, and all he could think was how much he wanted to peel off those jeans, spread her out and show her just how big the trouble she was in really was.

Whoa. She wasn’t up for anything wild. Even if he were going to indulge. Which he wasn’t. She was a virgin. Full of soft focus, pink-tinged, unrealistic expectations. Programmed to go gooey on him. To say nothing of way too small. Turned on as he was, he couldn’t be as gentle as he would need to be. That kind of thing required cast-iron self control. Hah. He was in danger of coming in his pants like a kid.

Her naked waist was clamped in his hands, so narrow, his fingers almost touched, but he felt the catlike play of lean, lithe muscle beneath. His hands roved hungrily, exploring that deep curve, that flare, those jeans that barely clung to her hips. The cleft of her ass.

Her hair was silky against his face. Her lips soft against his hot forehead. Her lip gloss smelled sugary, fruity. He was salivating to taste it, to lick and savor those soft, full, shining lips. Find her tongue. Kiss her senseless. She flung her head back, eyes closed, breath quickening.

Oh, man. She was moving in on her first climax, already. He clamped her hips against himself, sucked in air. Hung on for take-off.

Jesus. Like being on the inside of a fountain of light.

She arched, and he caught her, felt every violent pulse wrench through her and slowly fade to a sweet, lingering tremor of pleasure.

Wow. He hadn’t done a damn thing to make that happen. She’d done it all herself. And now he was worse off than before. Now he was in a world of hurt. Restless, desperate. Fucking furious, at himself, at her.

Robin lifted her head. Her face glowed with a sheen of sweat. Her lips were red, gleaming. They shook. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

His whole body clamored to obey. “No,” he said harshly.

She looked startled. “But you—but we—”

“Forget it.” Kissing would blow his lid off, even more than fucking would. He couldn’t. He felt too shriveled and blackened inside to risk it. Not with the smoke damage, the toxic waste. Fallout from the Egg Man.

“You’re still angry,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t like being played with.”

Her eyes looked hurt. “Played with? I’m not playing! I offered you everything God gave me! You seemed to like it. So just take it, already!”

He dumped her on her back on the sofa, her leg still sprawled over his, and slid off the couch and onto his knees. He rearranged his boner and his balls in their strangling prison of denim, and stared down at her body, laid out on the couch. She gazed up, apprehensive.

His hand came to rest on the petal-soft curve of her belly. Slid up to touch the undercurve of her breast. Something gave way inside him.

A compromise. It might not preserve his honor or integrity, but it was a measure of damage control. And it was the best he could do.

“OK. You win,” he said hoarsely. “Up to a point.”

Her eyes widened. She jerked up, half sitting.

“Let me tell you how it’s going to be,” he said. “I’ll get you off, as many times as you want. I’ll teach you to give head, because if you don’t make me come, I’m going to be in need of medical intervention. But I’m not going to kiss you. And I’m not going to fuck you. No penetration.”

Her eyes glowed, golden brown in the flickering firelight. “Wow,” she whispered. “Um, why not?”

“Damage control,” he said. “I don’t have any latex, for one thing—”

“I do!” she offered brightly.

“No. Penetration. And that’s. Fucking. Final. Got it?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “You’re being silly. The rest of what you’re suggesting is just as compromising and intimate, if not more so—”

“Believe me. You don’t want me for your first lover.”

She propped herself onto her elbows and studied him, fascinated. “Why on earth not? I’ve dreamed of it for years. You’re gorgeous. So?”