Firecracker (Last Call, Book Six) (2 page)

“
No,” he murmured, his cock
already straining against his jeans. “But we might light the place
up, and Ben would kick our asses out.”

“
You’re on a first-name
basis with the owner?” The thought seemed to amuse her, but she
eased away. For one moment, her brown eyes seemed to glow. “Have
you ever met a phoenix?”

He’d thought she was maybe a pyromancer,
someone with poor control. He’d never imagined she might be a
creature of flame herself. “Never.”

Phoebe didn’t look away from him. “I burn
every time I come,” she whispered, her cheeks flaming as if she was
well on her way to catching fire already. “It’s an awkward
distraction for most lovers. Even the flame resistant ones.”

Jesus
Christ
, the very thought made him
want to sink with her to the dance floor, push up her dress, and
get his face between her thighs. He’d make her burn right there. “I
can handle it, sweetheart. Cross my heart.”

“
The bartender said the room
would be fireproof.” She twined her fingers with his and pulled him
toward the back of the bar—and the elevator. “You should take me
there before I get too warm.”

He swiped the key and kept his hand on her
back until the doors slid open. “After you.”

Phoebe slipped past him and put her back to
the wall, her gaze following his hands as he punched the button for
the right floor. “I’m not going to die or anything. After I catch
fire, I mean.”

He folded his arms over his chest and blinked
at her. “Well shit, I hope not.”

She started, then buried her face in her
hands with a helpless laugh. “I’m sorry. You have to have one
annoying question people ask you. Hellhounds aren’t exactly common,
either.”

The elevator stopped at their floor with an
almost inaudible beep. “Come on, let’s get to the room. I want to
show you something.”

“
Okay.” She followed him to
the door at the end of the hallway. The key fit into a card reader
embossed with a stylized flame, and the room pulsed with protective
spells.

Jarrett led her inside, tossed the key on a
low table by the door, and held up his hand. “Put your palm to
mine.”

After discarding her purse and slipping out
of her shoes, she moved to obey. Her skin was good and warm now,
and she caught her lip between her teeth and stared at their
hands.

“
Now light it up,” he
whispered. “You can, right?”

She licked her lower lip and let her eyelids
droop. Flames licked up her wrist, dancing over her hand and up her
fingers to ghost over his skin. They tingled, shooting straight
through his bloodstream to his throbbing cock, and he had to
concentrate on absorbing them. “Open your eyes.”

“
Oh...” Her eyes widened as
she watched the fire melt into his skin, and her nervousness broke.
She surged up onto her toes and caught his lips in a desperate,
openmouthed kiss.

It felt better than he expected, sweeter
somehow, and he plunged his fingers into her upswept hair. She
moaned and gripped his shirt, tugged him toward the bed with clumsy
eagerness.

Not yet.
Jarrett broke the kiss with a groan and stilled
her movements with both hands on her hips. “Let me undress
you.”

Phoebe whimpered, but didn’t fight him.
“Whatever you want. Just promise you’ll fuck me.”

He said
fuck
at least fifty times a day, and
it never sounded as naughty as her voice wrapped around the single
syllable. “I’ll fuck you hard, sweetheart. Swear to
God.”

“
Can hounds from Hell swear
to God?”

“
You bet your sweet ass.” He
slipped his hands up under her skirt and teased his fingertips
along the backs of her thighs.

She shuddered and reached for the pins he’d
dislodged, dropping each one carelessly to the floor as she worked
it free. “Tell me why you come here. Just to scratch the itches of
lonely women?”

She probably wanted to hear something
profound, something downright poetic. “I come here to get off,
Phoebe. Everything else is an intriguing bonus.”

“
But why
here
?” She tugged at his shirt,
working it high enough to allow her hands to slip across his
abdomen. “Do you need supernatural lovers?”

“
Need is relative, isn’t
it?” He dragged his shirt over his head. “Sometimes it’s nice not
to have to hide who I am.”

Tiny wisps of flame curled across her fingers
as she pressed a hand to the center of his chest. “Sometimes I wish
I could hide. Those of us who cannot haven’t adapted to modern
times very well.”

Jarrett drew her hand up to his mouth and
licked her fingers. “You get a little fiery sometimes?”

“
I have... I have very
good—” Her breath caught, and the flames danced in her eyes now,
too, before she squeezed them shut. “Do you think the sheets and
blankets are fireproof? Because my clothes aren’t.”

“
Yes, they are.” At her
confused look, he nodded to the door. “You didn’t feel it when we
walked in? The warding?”

“
I felt a jolt. Heat.” She
turned and lifted her hair, revealing the zipper on her dress. “But
I feel that every time you touch me.”

Flattering—and arousing. “The wards extend to
protect anything inanimate that comes into the room. Your clothes
won’t burn and your jewelry won’t melt.” He pulled the tab of her
zipper down slowly.

“
Oh.” She was breathing
faster now. “I suppose that’s why it costs so much.”

“
Part of the reason.” The
black fabric parted to reveal creamy, pale skin, and he brushed a
kiss over the base of her neck.

Phoebe took a stumbling step back, pressing
her body to his with a choked noise. “Faster?” It was a plea, not a
question, and she squirmed around and pressed her lips to his
throat. “Please. Please, Jarrett.”

She
had
to be burning, because his own
skin felt like it was on fire. “Say it again. My name.”

“
Jarrett.” She tugged at her
dress, working it down as she pressed desperate, hungry kisses to
his chest, each one punctuated by his name. “Jarrett,
Jarrett...”

Instead of pulling off her dress, he slipped
his hands under it as he captured her mouth with his. He found the
edge of her panties and eased his fingers beneath the simple
satin.

She bit his lower lip and went up on her
toes, nudging his fingers lower. “Please,” she whispered again, her
mouth still pressed to his. “Please, I’ll do anything if you just
make me come. It’s been so long since it wasn’t me, by
myself...”

He could touch her now, ease his fingers over
her slick flesh and find her clit. Just a little teasing and she’d
come, he just knew it. “Now? Right here, like this?”

Her whimper sounded torn. “Is that bad?”

If their time together was going end
afterward, maybe, but they had all night if they wanted it. So he
moved his hand, hitched her closer to his chest, and slid his
fingers over her clit in a firm circle.

They were just getting started.

In the indecisive days leading up to this
moment, Phoebe had fretted that decades of virtual celibacy would
render her awkward and unsure. But this was a dance the body could
never forget, and one she was relieved to discover had clearly not
changed.

They might be new lovers but, in this moment,
she thought they understood one another perfectly. She was meant to
come, and her knees weakened as the wide tips of his fingers
pressed in another slippery circle.

She was so wet. Wet and
melting.
Glowing
,
with flames licking beneath her skin and ready to burst free. Her
control was usually impeccable, but tonight she thought she might
catch fire before the first wave of release claimed her. “Are—are
you ready?”

He chuckled and scraped his teeth over her
jaw. “Show me that fire, Phoebe.”

As if she had a choice. She was half naked,
tangled in her own clothes and pressed against a dangerous
stranger. Even the club’s rigorous safety precautions couldn’t
detract from the sheer illicit thrill of the moment, of having a
handsome, tattooed hellhound stroke her clit.

She gave in with a moan, relinquishing
conscious control over the power twisting inside her. Freed of its
cage it spilled forth in a rush of heat bathed every inch of her in
a trembling layer of fire.

He licked her throat. Her skin sizzled, and
he groaned and did it again.

No screams. No singed flesh. He was still
holding her, clutching her close—and the flames weren’t consuming
him.

Release unraveled so quickly her knees
buckled. She cried out and sagged against him, flames pulsing in
time with her heartbeat, in time with the clench of her desperate
orgasm.

“
Delicious.” His touch
gentled, but didn’t cease. Instead, his fingers slicked lower,
deeper. Into her.

That felt even more wicked. She clutched his
shoulders and gasped in a trembling breath. “I don’t think I can
come again so soon.”

Jarrett smiled against her cheek. “No?”

“
No, but—” It wasn’t
stopping renewed pleasure from fuzzing the edges of her vision. “Do
you know something I don’t?”

He didn’t answer. “How
long
has
it been,
Phoebe?”

If she told him the truth, he’d think her
ridiculous. “A while,” she said vaguely. “Too long.”

“
Amen, darling.” His fingers
moved then, just a little, stroking inside her.

The slow, torturous stretch countered the
gentleness of the caress. His hand was larger than her own, his
fingers broader. She shuddered and buried her face in his throat.
“You can tell, can’t you?” she whispered.

“
You’re tight, but not
tense.” He bit her earlobe.

Pain shot down her spine, the delicious kind
that melted into pleasure somewhere between her neck and her belly.
She moaned and rubbed against his hand. “I’m not a virgin, I
promise.”

“
I know.” He slowly pulled
his hand away. “Neither am I.”

She moaned at the loss, unable to stop
herself from grabbing his wrist. “You-you’re stopping?” She sounded
shameless, like a desperate woman.

Of course, she’d come to a
bar looking for sex from an anonymous man. She
was
a desperate woman.

“
Just for a minute.” He
eased the dress down over her hips and helped her step out of it.
“I want to look at you too.”

“
Oh.” Her underthings were
demure and uninteresting. Simple white with barely a hint of lace,
even on her garters. She felt like a plain bride on her wedding
night, and the thought brought color to her cheeks. “If I’d known
my clothing would be safe from the fire, I would have dressed
up.”

Jarrett slipped his fingers under one of her
garters. “Honey, I’ve had cars that cost less than this
lingerie.”

“
Fancier, then.” She watched
his tattoos dance as his arms flexed. “There are benefits to being
reborn into a new body every one thousand weeks. I was a starving
artist in the thirties—one who died tragically young, of course.
Her work is very popular with distinguished collectors.”

“
Sounds like a neat
trick.”

“
When you tend to outlive
your lovers, you’re left with plenty of time to develop
hobbies.”

“
I bet.” He slid his fingers
lower, over the swell of her breast beneath her bra. “I’m surprised
you didn’t go looking for someone fireproof years ago.”

As if she hadn’t tried. “There aren’t all
that many out there. I’ve never met a hellhound before.”

He seemed to consider that. “No, I guess
there aren’t many of us around anymore.”

“
Probably better for me.”
Still feeling shy, she traced a fingertip up his arm and over his
shoulder, following the vivid ink that cut a path over his skin.
“If they’re all as fascinating as you, I’d be completely debauched
by now.”

“
Undoubtedly.” Jarrett
turned her around and kissed her shoulder as he unhooked her
bra.

Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been
this—especially not from a hellhound. Gentle touches, slow and
intense. He was touching her the way you seduced a lover, not the
way you fucked a stranger. “What do you want from tonight,
Jarrett?”

“
To have fun.” His breath
blew cool on her skin, as cool as the hand that slipped around the
tease at her stomach. “To make a little connection. To let
go.”