Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (26 page)

So small and helpless, yet nothing about her was weak. He relented, watching her breasts heave while she panted.  He plucked one feather from the hefty wooden handle, still admiring her curves. Her pussy was wet. Her nipples were rigid. His gaze traced her voluptuous form until he reached her slit. Her folds gleamed with her juices.

Being tickled turns her on. Can I make her come?

* * * *

A
my felt something soft sweep across her clit. She tried to focus on that sensation. The need to identify it filled her. She ached to know what he touched her with. It was too small to be the feather duster. Too slim to be his finger.
A feather. Just one.

Lost in darkness, that tiny stroke traced such a short path and yet, the sensation echoed along the insides of her thighs. She almost felt as though he stroked the crevice between her butt cheeks, though the thing never deviated from the miniscule length of her most tender point. A second sensation joined the first, this one on her nipple. The paired strokes made shivers march down her spine.

Was he staring at her nipples or her folds?

The tiny stroke on her breast played the melody, but the beat driving her blood was the touch at the top of her slit. Like a metronome, the small sensation sent a flush moving along her thighs, over her belly and along the curve of her breasts, inciting helpless contractions in her core. Juices trickled from inside her and traced a silky path through her folds, the sensation magnified by the focus she placed on her opening.

She couldn’t move, yet couldn’t lie still. Pressing her mound upward did nothing, and yet seemed to do something. Pleasure sizzled along the single point, so small, yet echoing loudly in her nipples. A harder touch became a desire, then a need.

All she got was the unrelenting, teasing caress.

The soft burn from his goatee began to sting, a warm reminder he’d been there. The side of her body that had touched his skin minutes before seemed warmer than the side which had not. Her lips stung from echoed nips long since taken. Pictures flipped inside her head. The look on his face when he knelt in front of her at the mall. Eric leaning over her at the wheelchair tournament, bending close enough to kiss. The shocking sensation dancing up her leg when he sucked her toe into his mouth. Their tender kiss after the sponge ball fight. She seemed to feel the vibration of his voice when he explained about the hot spring, though he remained silent now.

Every time they’d touched crashed through her nerve endings, ghostly caresses as real to her as the insistent stroke on her clit, until it seemed he touched her everywhere, though he wasn’t touching her at all.

In the churning wake of the memories was the swelling, rising, all-consuming need to come.

* * * *

S
he was so close. Eric watched her tiny opening flutter, dropping the feather he’d used to tickle her breast so he could stroke himself. He had to. The sight of her, flushed and writhing, had his cock aching with each heavy thud of his heart.

At least one problem seems cured. Not stress, then.
If anything, his concerns had increased, but his cock was rigid.

I was protecting her, because she deserves more than I usually give.

How much of me does she want?

Her cries seemed to pound inside his balls, but he kept up the steady tickle along her clit. She panted, she squirmed, she begged to come.

He changed the direction of the feather’s tip, sweeping right to left, across her clit.

Such a small adjustment, a minor correction of course, but it seemed to push Amy over. She cried out. Her back arched off the mattress.

There was something—something important—flickering in the back of his mind, some realization that wouldn’t quite come to him, because he wanted her so badly.

The condoms were in the drawer beside the bed. He donned one quickly.

He had to be in her. And he knew what that would mean. This couldn’t be—had never been— sex like he knew it. This had to be more. Was more.

Tugging loose the knots fastening her feet, Eric climbed onto the bed, covering her quickly. Sliding between her thighs, he felt her strong legs go around his waist. He pushed the sock off her eyes, reveling in the stunned and faraway look he loved to see in her dark eyes. Lowering his head, he claimed her mouth, driving his tongue past her lips. He wanted to kiss her roughly, exactly the way he needed to fuck her, but he forced himself to seduce. Fumbling to untie her hands, he felt a surge of emotion when she slid her palms behind his neck. He wanted all of her wrapped around him.

Her hips thrust toward his, telegraphing her impatience.

Eric was taking his time, but he wasn’t holding back. She was small and no doubt would be exquisitely tight, but he could trust her to let him know if she felt discomfort. He could trust her with anything.

* * * *

T
he odd sensation she’d had when they’d fallen asleep together on the couch was back. Every molecule in Amy’s body was buzzing in recognition of... what? What was that? It felt like some circuit completed whenever he touched her. The head of his cock was poised at her entrance, but she was lost in the look on his face.

“Eric.” All she could do was whisper. If she said more than his name, she’d say too much.

Lowering his forehead to hers, he rocked into her slowly. Amy felt full in every way, her body, her heart, her soul. She breathed in his scent, took in his cock, reveled in the look on his face. He didn’t turn away or break their connection by closing his eyes. Did he know he was taking more than her body?

The friction of his cock inside her was so sweet and the pressure so intense, she needed him to move. Digging her nails into the back of his neck made him smile.

“You’re perfect.”

Could that be true?

* * * *

E
ric was lost in the dazed wonder in her eyes. Her cries made patience impossible. Soon, he was thrusting into her so hard, she moved a hand to the headboard. Lacing his fingers together, he cradled her head, driving deeper. She met his thrusts, crying out when she came.

He let go, filling the condom. Not his best effort, but his most sincere.

Turning to his side, he cradled her to his chest. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the warm cinnamon speckles in her eyes, so much like a tiny solar system. He wanted to stay lost in that world, memorize every freckle, learn the story behind every scar. Maybe, if they just kissed and talked, he might figure out how to say the thing he’d never said to a woman.

Snow had begun to fall. He tightened his arms around her and turned off the lamp, watching the firelight flicker across her pale curves.

He dozed but came wide awake when he heard her soft whisper.

“I love you.”

Fear grabbed him by the throat. All he had to do to have what he wanted was to return the words, but he couldn’t get them out.

How long will she settle for a mechanic?

A
my yanked open the dryer, cringing at the popping sound made by the door. “Thanks for returning my call, Jay. Yeah, you’ll be impressed when you see your brother play. Kevin’s really come a long way since the accident.” She dragged her ref’s uniform out of the hot drum, wincing when the synthetic fabric crackled. Her striped shirt clung to the cheap cotton-and-polyester pants like a drunk to a light pole. She thought she spied both socks, but didn’t see her bra. Eric didn’t have dryer sheets or fabric softener.

Maybe no one would run into her on the court. It’d be a shame to electrocute a perfectly good high school basketball player.

“I’m so glad to hear you’re willing to help. Yes, all donations would go to the team, if that’s okay with you.” Amy cautiously peeled one sock off the shirt, wincing at the loud crackle of static. “Awesome. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. I’ll let you know the exact date.”

Raising her head, she let her cell drop, catching it one-handed. Glaring at the snarl of clothing with a sigh, she laid the phone down so she could she peel the other sock off her shirt. Bending, she peered into the recess of the dryer, relieved to see her bra and the detestable pair of waist-high cotton panties. They were a necessary evil. Running up and down the court would have any of her growing pile of sexier lingerie up her crack in no time.

Everything but the shirt still felt damp, but she feared if she started the dryer again she really would electrocute somebody. Still, the good news caused her to raise her fist and spin the bra in a circle. Jay Jarius had agreed to sign autographs. The appearance of a local-boy-turned-NFL-player virtually guaranteed her exhibition would raise some heavy-duty cash for the team. She was so thrilled by the news, she did a little bump-and-grind to celebrate.

Now, she had to pressure her dad to find some way to satisfy Phillip Chapman’s safety concerns. She’d work on that as soon as she came off the court from calling this playoff game.

She grabbed the wad of clothing, trying to recall what she’d done with her whistle after Saturday’s wheelchair games. Spinning, she caught sight of a tall figure standing beside the bar. Amy shrieked. Tiny lightning bolts sizzled across her naked breasts, stomach, and bare legs as her static-charged clothes fell to the floor.

Eric‘s grin was wolfish. “Now that’s sexy. Every man in America should come home to a view like that, baby girl. Thanks so much.”

She clasped her hands over her hammering heart before flipping him a bird. “Please tell me you’ve seen my whistle.”

“Oh, I saw it alright.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me, we need to get you an appointment for a wax.”

“Wax is for candles and cars.” She raised her chin, her pulse leaping at the sight of Eric smiling for the first time since that miserable day at his brother’s. “Not hoo-has. Seriously, when’s the last time you heard some guy say, ‘Honey, I got my dick waxed just for you’?” Amy dressed where she stood, enjoying his laughter and the way his eyes raked her body. “Fast enough?”

He held out his arms. “Some might say too fast.”

Amy felt her heart do that stupid thing again when she stepped into his arms.

I don’t think he’s ever been happy.
Dee’s words came back to her while they embraced. But dating women like Dani and Tina was beginning to make more sense. He’d decided he wasn’t worth loving after his father beat him up for trying to help Sarah get an abortion, so he’d chosen women who weren’t capable of loving anyone other than themselves.

Loving Eric is a waste of time until he decides he’s worth loving.

Amy had no idea how to teach him that. “Why are you home early?”

“Driving you to Greenville. Roads will be slick after dark.” He ruffled her hair. “I kinda like watching you blow that whistle anyway. But I need to make a stop first. Let’s get out of here before I drag you to bed.”

* * * *

E
ric navigated into a parking space in front of the mall. Turning off the truck’s engine, he sat staring at the entrance.

“What’s wrong?” Amy opened her door.

“Nothing.” Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, he watched the picketers march up and down the sidewalk, waving their signs and handing out pamphlets until he felt what he’d been waiting for—the coil of anger under his breastbone.

She hopped out and came around to his side, opening his door. “You change your mind?”

“No.” Easing out of the truck, he locked the doors. Grabbing Amy’s hand when she rounded the rear end of the truck, he glared. “Where the hell is your coat?”

She shrugged. “You were rushing me. I’ll be sweating five minutes after I get onto the court anyway.”

“You’re gonna get sick, running around in the snow without a jacket.” He squeezed her hand.

She huffed. “’Fess up. How much does Mom pay you to be her minion?”

Eric forced a laugh, his eyes on the people holding signs. “I got a sweet recruitment deal. You should see my 401k.”

By the time they reached the sidewalk, Amy was shivering. He should’ve let her out at the door. Next time, he wouldn’t forget. “Go on inside. I’ll be right there.”

Her brows went up, but she dodged the picketers and walked through the door. He could see her through the glass, the toy vendor’s cart at her back, but he looked away. He wanted to see the faces, the red noses, and chapped cheeks of the marchers.

“South Carolina needs a hate crime law.” One of the protestors stuck a pamphlet in his hand.

Eric didn’t look at the paper. Instead, he searched the earnest brown eyes of the man who’d given it to him. “Why? Why do we need that law?”

“Have you heard about Cammie De Marco? How she died?” This guy was in his late fifties, Eric judged. Going bald. Wire-rimmed glasses. He’d never seen the man before, but these people had been marching for months, ever since John’s arrest. “She was murdered—by a confessed member of the Ku Klux Klan—who thought she’d slept with a black man or a Mexican. A God-fearing, church-going woman, killed because of senseless prejudice. She had four little kids, mister. Four children who grew up without a mother, because of hatred. Now, that man’s gonna do five years or less for her death. A hate crime law would allow the solicitor to give her killer the death penalty.”

The wind made Eric’s eyes sting. “How soon can we vote on this?”

The man scowled. “That’s the problem. We aren’t going to get a vote on this. We have to write our state representatives. We have to tell our governor we want this law. It’s all in the pamphlet.”

In other words, all this marching is a waste of time.
Eric didn’t see how these well-intentioned people could make any difference. “Thank you.” He stepped around the man and yanked open the door. Amy’s brows were pinched together, but she didn’t speak. He took her by the hand again and turned in the direction of Phil’s office. He loved her for not asking questions. That freedom, to not have to justify his every move, felt like something unfamiliar.
Trust.

The secretary smiled. “Well, hello there. Nice to see you again, Eric.”

He could almost see this gold-digger’s pick-axe glinting from beneath her desk. “Tell Phil I need a few minutes of his time.”