Flip This Love (14 page)

She waved one elegant hand and he almost gave up another cookie for the pleasure of letting her think she could order him about. “You know, the ones people put in offices. The ‘keep striving,’ ‘determination wins the day’ kind of crap those guys who do the corporate lecture circuit spew like hydrants.”

“I know. I have one.”

His admission gave her a moment’s pause. Blinking those big black eyes, she cocked her head and studied him as if he’d announced a fetish for farm animals. “You do? Really?”

Thoroughly amused by her consternation, he reached into the bag and pulled out another cellophane-wrapped cookie. Grinning, he extended his hand palm-up. The second she reached for the cookie, he closed his fingers around hers and held tight. “A picture of a wrecking ball and it says, ‘If someone gets in your way, show ’em your great big balls.”

Her laugh bounced off the walls like a champagne cork. Pleasure fizzed down his spine and pooled right in his groin. He held her hand until the last tinkling notes of her joy faded into awareness and her gaze dropped to his crotch. Unlike Laney, he made no attempt to cover his rapidly intensifying arousal. There was no point. He wanted her to know exactly what she did to him. She ran her pink tongue over her bottom lip, and he released her hand abruptly. She let her gaze roam all over him and took her time meeting his eyes again. He made no apologies. Anything he might say to be polite would be little more than an outright lie, and they both knew it.

“Open your cookie, Delaney.”

She did as she was told, but this time she tossed the wrapper and cookie onto the nightstand, then uncurled the tiny slip of paper. Dark lashes fluttered and her gaze flew to his.

“Better?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, a coy smile curved her lips as she tucked the slip of paper under her pillow. His curiosity almost outweighed his desire for her. But, frankly, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what the fortune cookie said as long as she kept looking at him the way she was. Expectant. Impatient. Unmistakably interested in her view. Moving with purpose, he gathered the cartons propped along the length of his leg and dumped them back into the bag. He wasn’t above twisting and flexing a bit here and there, seeing as how she seemed to like it when he did. His pride also didn’t stop him from giving her the same ass shot she’d given him when he bent to drop the sack full of food to the floor.

The instant he righted himself, he had a lap full of Laney.

Christ, her mouth was soft. And wet. And, Jesus, if she bit his lip one more time... He groaned as she did. And of course he did nothing to stop her. What man in his right mind would? She was hot and obviously juiced up about something. He hoped it was him and not whatever the stupid fortune said.

He plunged his hands into her already-snarled hair, taking great pleasure in messing up those silky waves some more. Angling his face up, Harley forced her to make the most of her superior position if she wanted to take the kiss deeper. God love her, she did. Their tongues tangled. Parry, thrust, circle, slide—each advance met, every retreat pursued. He wound a hank of her hair around his hand, closing his fist over the silky strands. Not to control her. No, he wanted her reckless and out of control. Laney was at her best when whipped into a frenzy.

Like the twisters tossed off by the tropical storms, she was a tempest. Wild and whirling, sweeping up everything and everyone in her path. But Laney had none of Mother Nature’s inherent wrath inside her. She didn’t want to decimate and destroy. She wanted what she wanted. And, at least for the moment, she wanted him.

She trailed teasing kisses along his jaw, murmuring complaints about the roughness of his five o’clock shadow while rubbing the flat of her palm over his cheek. Tipping her head to the side, she wasn’t nearly as precise as she went after his neck and throat with sloppy, sucking pulls of her mouth that could hardly be described as kisses.

Flashbacks to hormone-fueled high school make-out sessions flashed through his head. He remembered his senior prom. He’d taken prissy little Kathleen Fitzpatrick because he had twenty bucks riding on whether she wore one of those fake-out bras or if those perky tits were real. In those days, no guy who’d ever worn the St. Pat’s green and blue had been able to ascertain the truth. Harley had the answer within seconds of leading her to the darkest corner he could find at Mobile’s venerable Putnam House mansion. They were real. With his mission accomplished, a part of him wished he could leave. But he couldn’t. No matter how uncomfortable the entire evening made him.

He hadn’t planned to go at all, but his mom wanted him to. She kept babbling on about him having the whole high school experience and how he’d regret it if he didn’t dress up in a rented monkey suit and spend the evening making nice to some girl he’d barely spoken to in the two years he’d been incarcerated at the city’s most prestigious prep school. But he hadn’t been prepping for anything. Unlike every single one of his classmates, Harley had no college plan. All he had was a growing collection of power tools and a full-time construction gig lined up for the Monday after he graduated.

Tiny little bird pecks. That’s what Kathleen’s kisses felt like compared to the havoc Laney was wreaking on him at the moment. Yes, Kathleen’s tits had been the real deal. He’d been holding one of them in his hand when he’d looked up and caught Delaney watching him as she slow-danced with her date. And for the first time in his eighteen years, he wasn’t the least bit interested in a better look at the boob in hand.

Sliding his hand up, he claimed one of Laney’s pert tits and squeezed. Her throaty moan vibrated against his skin. The sharp edges of her teeth scraped his Adam’s apple. She pushed into his palm, demanding he pay more attention to the ripe raspberry nipple that dominated the creamy mound.

Once upon a time, he’d scoffed at people who claimed anything more than a mouthful was a waste. He loved women with big, bouncy boobs and made no bones about it. But real ones. None of those sacs of saline or silicone for him,
thankyouverymuch
. There was a difference, and as he’d grown older, he’d become enough of a connoisseur to care. When he’d first started giving Delaney serious chase, he’d considered her lack of natural endowment a sacrifice he was willing to make. But he’d never met a woman whose tits were as sensitive as Laney’s. The first time they were together, she nearly came when he’d done nothing more than suck them. Now he was a true believer. And everyone knew there was no bigger zealot than a convert.

He unclenched his fist and the slick strands of her hair unraveled. Slowly. Sensuously. The nearly black tresses slipped through his fingers and down her shoulders. The second her hair was gone, he wanted it back. But then he remembered he had other parts to conquer. Cupping both small breasts in his hands, he let his head fall, allowing her free access to mark any part of him she wanted. Seemed only fair, he mused as he rubbed his thumbs over the distended tips of her nipples. A violent shudder ran through her and he smiled as his fingers clamped down on the furled buds. Laney reared back, a cry of anguished pleasure filling the air.

“That’s right, tell me how much you like it,” he goaded.

She wouldn’t. He knew she’d never talk dirty, but he had to give it a shot anyway. No matter how much she loved the action, and he knew his verbal foreplay made her hotter than Hades, his Delaney was a lady through and through. He wondered exactly how long it would take him to break her of her reticence. He noted the challenge and mentally filed it away for another day. Or maybe another hour, if things kept going the way they were. In this moment, he was focused solely on her breasts and whether he could push her over the edge simply by worshiping them as they deserved to be worshiped.

He squeezed the modest mounds again, and his mind slipped right back to prom night. He could feel the heat of Laney’s wide-eyed stare. She wore a silky, slinky dress in a vibrant shade of green. Already taller than most of the girls and some of the guys—including her date—Laney stood out like a glittering jewel atop a bouquet of pale spring flowers. Neil Bartlemas. He remembered the name of the guy who’d been lucky enough to escort the sassy sophomore to her first big dance. The mere thought Neil Bartlemas touching his Delaney drove him wild with lust and jealousy. He pinched her nipples hard enough to make her cry out again, then pulled one into his mouth.

She ground against him, her hips swiveling and circling. She rose above him, slender and sinuous as a cobra coaxed from her cozy nest by a tune only he knew how to play. And play her he did. Sinking his teeth into her nipple, he lashed the tip with his tongue. Laney panted and moaned, her squeaks and grunts of restraint filling the room. Cupping her ass with his free hand, he pulled her closer. His dick nestled deep in the folds of her pussy. She bucked against him, shamelessly rubbing against his aching cock as he switched from one side to the other.

“I’m not gonna fuck you till after you come, so you might as well stop fighting it,” he whispered as he nuzzled the sweet curve beneath the crested mound. He nipped at her nipple, barely grazing the skin with his teeth, and she clutched the back of his head and yanked him to her. “What? What can I do for you?”

Her growl was a mixture of frustration and arousal, a sure sign she was closer than she would ever admit.

He held firm, determined to get at least a little give from her. “Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Open your mouth,” she ground out at last.

Smiling, he did as she ordered. The second his lips parted, she thrust her breast in. He drew lightly and she released a squawk of pure pique, signaling the game was nearly over. This time, he opened his mouth wider and pulled harder on the taut flesh. Her palm curved around the back of his head and her fingers spread wide in his hair as she arched her back in approval. He suckled deep and greedy, swirling his tongue around her as she began to ride his dick like a stripper pole. The thought made him smile. Of course, his smile broke the seal of suction and elicited a dismayed cry from the woman in his lap, but he knew exactly how to appease her. Reclaiming his victim, he sank his teeth into the swollen flesh. Hard. She went off like one of the fireworks rich kids’ parents thought were absolutely essential to throwing the perfect Senior Prom.

When her frantic movements finally slowed, he nuzzled the shallow valley between her breasts and murmured a soft “boom” into her skin.

“Do you like that?”

Laney hummed her approval but declined to give him the satisfaction of a straight up yes or no. She knew darn well what he was doing and his ploy wasn’t going to work. Her mama would do somersaults in her grave if she knew her one and only child had tossed away every shred of decency and decorum drilled into her simply because a man knew how to use his thumbs.

“Better than sex?”

Harley wore a wicked smile as he pressed the blunt tips of both thumbs into the meat at the ball of her foot. She wanted to deny it, wipe his know-it-all grin right off his fallen angel face, but she couldn’t. She was too busy biting her tongue and arching her back like a cat. A cat in heat. A feline of loose morals. One who would trade her last can of Finicky Feast for the pleasure of having her aching paws rubbed by a man wearing a shirt with “The Big Tool” stenciled across his chest.

“Tell me how it feels, Delaney.”

He ran strong thumbs over her instep with enough pressure to keep her from twisting from his grasp in a ticklish twitch. She closed her eyes and let her head loll against the sofa cushion. He already knew her too well. Knew after six days of working retail, her feet hurt badly by Saturday evenings. Kept the fact that she loathed being tickled in mind as he provided his after-hours foot massage services. He also knew she loved the way he talked to her low and sexy the whole time, like he did during their lovemaking.

Yep, four nights in, and somewhere along the way she’d stopped thinking about the time she spent with Harley as sexual sparring and started calling it lovemaking. If she didn’t like the way he cupped her heel and gently kneaded his way up her tendon to her aching ankles, she might have made a few token retching noises. But she couldn’t. She was too busy moaning.

“That’s it, sugar, let it all out.”

His smoothly coaxing tone was pure put-on, but a blush heated her cheeks. She told herself he was nothing but a sugar-coated snake oil salesman dressed up as a more macho Bob the Builder, but unfavorable comparisons did little good. Callused fingertips kneaded her calf muscle. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the arch of her foot. She hugged a throw pillow to her chest, her nails biting into the seams. She wanted more than anything to give in to his demands. She simply...couldn’t.

“Harley...”

His breath was hot and moist against her sole. He nipped at the tip of her big toe as he worked the knots from her tensed muscles. In that moment she would have sold a tiny bit of her soul to be as free with her feelings as he was.

“Tell me how you want it. I’ll do anything you want me to do, Delaney. All you have to do is say the word.”

And he was serious. Dead serious. He’d proved his commitment repeatedly over the course of the week, but she couldn’t quite come to grips with the power he handed over with so little thought. If she said pizza, one would appear at her door within an hour. All she had to do was raise a question or concern about her business plan and he was on the phone to one of his endless array of “old buddies from way back” who were sure to have a suggestion, if not an answer. If she asked him to add a paraffin treatment to tonight’s tender ministrations, the man would run right out to get whatever was needed. The thought made her smile, but she didn’t test it. As much as she’d love to see Harley Cade taking Bertilla’s Beauty Supply by storm, she liked having him right where he was, on her sofa with the lights turned low and the television even lower.

Of course, he’d wanted to take her out to dinner. Her mouth watered as he ticked off restaurant after restaurant, searching for the one that would tempt her to say yes. She felt like a fool for turning him down. How was a woman who spent her days dishing dresses supposed to explain the sheer exhaustion brought on by fashionably high heels to a man who’d traded in hard manual labor his entire adult life? In the end, he took her suggestion of the carry-out of his choice with his customary ease.