Make Me Scream (4 page)

J
amie tossed and turned on the softly worn sheets, tangling her feet in them. She kicked them away and flopped to her stomach, punching the pillow into submission.

Visions of Devon standing naked in her bedroom, moonlight combining with the light from the courtyard spilling in to bathe his naked sex in a warm glow. His hard, erect, naked sex. Hard and erect and pulsing for her.

She shifted in a failed attempt to ease the ache between her legs.

She’d blown it. Totally ruined the moment by freaking out. But she’d been so sure she’d seen something at the window. Something with eyes. Fred had immediately flashed into her mind, but now that she’d had a chance to calm down she wasn’t as sure of what she’d seen.

Fred may not have found her or been the one peeking in her window, but she didn’t fool herself. If he wasn’t around, he would be soon. He always found her.

A glance at the still partially open shade confirmed that no one was at the window. She should get up and let it down, just in case. But to do that required more energy than she had at the moment.

She flopped onto her back and watched the faint shadows on the ceiling, the lazy rotation of the ceiling fan. One night. All she needed was one full night’s sleep. Sleep uninterrupted by the man who haunted her days and now invaded her nights.

Her mind went to Devon, and the constriction in her chest eased. Her muscles relaxed. She smiled. Who would have guessed that under the frumpiness was a body of a god? Her hands covered her breasts, absently rubbing the hardened nipples through her threadbare University of Michigan nightshirt. It had felt so good, so right, when he’d sucked them. She gave the hard buds a little tweak, moving her legs restlessly on the sheet.

What would Devon think of her body, her real body? She’s seen the way his eyes had practically bugged out of his head when he’d eyed her cleavage. Yet he hadn’t seemed to notice the disparity in size when he’d held and suckled her.

She ran her hand under the nightshirt and massaged her aching breasts. Ever so slowly, she dragged her hands down her rib cage, past the indention of her waist, over the flair of her hips. She traced a line over her thighs and up, up until her fingertips brushed her intimate moisture. Tightening her stomach muscles, she raised to look at her genitals in the shadowed light and then ran her fingertip over the petal-soft, ultrasensitive skin she’d exfoliated that morning.

Relaxing against the pillow, she dipped her fingertip into her moisture and then spread it with lazy motions over her labia, imagining Devon’s tongue tracing the same path. The thought made her squirm, made her hips want to buck off the sheets in an age-old plea for sexual appeasement.

Ache. She ached for him. Planting her heels on the mattress, she spread her legs. The coolness from the fan bathed her heated center. It wasn’t enough. Reaching between her legs, she cupped her sex and ground the heel of her hand against her mons. Instead of subsiding, the ache grew stronger. Hand still cupped, she lightly slapped at the ache. A pleasant twinge zinged up into her womb. Another slap brought her to the brink of…what? An orgasm? She had to find out.

Dipping her finger again, she swirled her juices over her heated skin, her heart rate increasing with each stroke of fingertip to smooth, hot skin. Two more stinging slaps, each one a bit harder, and she was gasping, panting, yearning for release.

Desperate, she plunged her finger deep. Her inner muscles clamped around her finger, the plump walls hot and slick with her excitement. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t divorce the sensation of something filling her from the knowledge of what she felt like inside.

With a frustrated groan, she rolled onto her stomach, rubbing against the sheet in an effort to find release. Instead, her frustration mounted.

She stuck her hand beneath her, flicking her distended labia, rubbing her swollen nub, the pressure of her knuckles against the springs of the mattress taking away some of the awareness of exactly where her hand was and what it was doing. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut tight and focused on the feeling of her most private area being petted and teased….

Her knees came up, pushing her bare bottom toward the breeze from the ceiling fan. She imagined Devon blowing gently on her wet folds while he manipulated and played with her femininity. Her back jerked. Her hand rubbed harder and faster, occasionally slapping and then petting the stinging flesh.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Devon on his knees behind her, doing all those wondrous things to her, his hot penis thumping against her butt, kissing her vagina.

And she was there.

With a sound that was half groan, half animal mating call, her back arched as her climax raced through her. Tiny shards of electricity zipped through her veins to tingle her nipples, teasing them into hard buds. Every muscle in her body vibrated with the charge shooting through her to all her extremities. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks shooting from her nipples.

With a final gasp, she fell back onto the mattress, eyes shut, savoring the little aftershocks of pleasure.

Devon’s entire body vibrated. Weak, he gathered the strength to pull up his boxers and shorts, then dropped back into his chair.

After a moment, he typed:
WARNING! Do not confuse the vibrator button with the stinger operation button
.

Killer made a little whimper in his sleep, and Devon smiled as he watched the dog chasing something in his dreams.

Devon rearranged his still semihard, tingling dick to a more comfortable position and frowned. Had Jamie not freaked, they could have soothed the ache filling his groin, impeding his creative thoughts.

He picked up the Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee personal device and turned it over in his hand. The gel was soft, almost pliant, still warm from his body heat, he supposed. Idly flicking one wing with his index finger, he compared it to the feel of a woman’s labia. Of course, a labia was firmer, tighter…unless in the midst of arousal.

Immediately his thoughts zipped to Jamie and how her labia had felt in the precious few moments he’d been able to touch it. Hot. Soft. Wet and lush.

His cock stirred at the memory. Eyes still trained on the wing, he unzipped in order to relax enough to spur creativity. Within seconds, the engorged head peeked through the flap in his boxers. He ignored it, intent on coming up with something clever and positive to say about the product in his hand.

He turned off the desk lamp, its click echoing in the quiet apartment. In the distance, the rumble of male voices continued. In the soft light from his laptop screen, the bee took on an ethereal glow.

How would lovers use this for mutual satisfaction?

A vision of Jamie, her bare bottom sitting right where his laptop had been, gorgeous legs spread wide for his viewing pleasure, came to him. She smiled down at him and they both looked at her moist cherry folds. He stroked them with the wing of the bee. Gentle at first, he increased the tempo and pressure.

Bathed in moonlight, she leaned back on her hands, elbows locked, the puckered nipples of her impressive rack jutting toward him.

He stood, replacing the busy bee wings with his equally busy fingers while he fluttered her distended nipples with the device.

She moaned. Maybe it was him.

His eager cock nudged her ass. She scooted forward for easier access, her smooth legs going around his hips, pulling him into her wet heat.

He sucked one breast hard, the wings still gently slapping her other breast. Her wetness pulled him deeper. His hips bucked, increasing in intensity. He switched nipples and moved the bee. Her hot breath fanned his ear. Faster. Harder. Deeper.

Deeper?

It was his fantasy, so why not? His hips pumped faster, driving hard into her welcoming body.

Inspiration struck. Dragging his hands down her smooth legs, he placed her bare feet on his shoulders, spreading her for deeper thrusts. Muscles tightened in his legs. Too soon. He didn’t want to come without her. He fumbled for the bee. He must have dropped it in the heat of passion. Got it. The wings gently slapped his balls as he positioned the device so it would propel Jamie over the edge to free-fall with him and pushed the button as his release rushed toward him.

Pain shot from his dick to his balls and squeezed. His lungs seized. He may have lost consciousness for a second or two.

When he came to, he was half lying across the keyboard of his laptop, his pants around his ankles. Humiliation washed over him. Something nudged him. Hot breath fanned his ear.

“Lark?” Killer stood on his hind legs, straining to see what was going on.

Devon regarded his keyboard and said a silent prayer he hadn’t ruined his computer. Will, his computer guru, would never let him live it down.

Killer tilted his head, regarding his master. “Lark?”

“Don’t ask.”

S
un peeking through the partially opened blinds warmed Jamie’s bare bottom. On the edge of wakefulness, she smiled against the soft fabric of the sheet. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life, and, for a change, optimism stroked her along with the warm sunshine.

As soon as she showered and dressed, she would explore the neighborhood and find a place to eat breakfast. After that, a serious shopping trip was in order. She couldn’t rely on Devon’s generosity forever. Plus, she needed to buy groceries.

By the time she’d showered and dressed, she was sweaty again. The window air conditioner in the bedroom hummed, chugging along, but the air had taken on a definite warmth and humidity by the time she walked into the living room. The gel from the bust enhancers was already sticking to the undersides of her breasts. She blinked her unnaturally blue eyes at the reflection in the scratched mirror, still surprised at the transformation.

Her bottle tan was beginning to fade and show a few uneven streaks on her arms and legs. Darn. The self-tanner was expensive. Hiking the skirt up to her hip, she surveyed as far down the back of her leg as she could. Maybe she’d be better off investing in a bathing suit and working on her tan by the pool.

Despite the pep talk Devon had given himself during his shower, he stepped to the side of Jamie’s door and peeked through the front window. It wasn’t like he was window peeping. He was just being considerate. He didn’t want to knock and wake her up.

His mouth went dry, the breath mint he’d just popped in sticking to his tongue.

Jamie stood, with one shapely leg lifted, her bare foot resting on the chair. She hiked up the skirt of her flowered halter dress and bent over, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her smooth ass cheek.

He stepped aside and rapped on her door and then took a deep breath and swallowed. The breath mint karate-chopped his Adam’s apple, causing him to double over, wheezing and choking in an effort to dislodge the thing.

At that moment, Jamie opened her door.

Through the tears blurring his vision, he could see her tanned feet, pink toenails glistening in the morning sunshine, trim ankles, shapely calves, the edge of her dress.

“Devon!” The bare feet moved closer. Now he could see the flowers on the skirt of her sundress. “Are you all right? Should I call someone?”

He shook his head and wheezed and then went into a coughing fit again.

She grasped his arm and tugged him into her apartment and then leaned in to look closer, so close he could have licked the upper swell of her tanned cleavage. Was it his imagination or could he see the dark edge of a nipple? Was she tan all over? It had been too dark in the bedroom last night to tell.

“Devon?”

The concern on her face brought instant remorse. He nodded and tried to swallow around the hard lump of minty freshness in his throat. “I’m fine,” he finally managed to croak out.

At an even six feet, he considered himself average height, but looking down at Jamie he felt like a giant.

“Damn, you’re short.” Not exactly a great conversation opener, but it popped into his mind and fell out of his mouth before he had a chance to censor. It seemed to be happening a lot lately. He blamed his long work hours but wondered if it was really a by-product of being alone.

If Jamie was offended, she didn’t show it. She flashed a white grin. “It depends what you call short. I’m almost five feet, but I guess, to some people, that would be vertically challenged.”

Her smile was contagious. He stood, grinning down at her. “You look nice. Going somewhere?”

“Thanks.” She smoothed her hand down the skirt of her dress. “I need to do some grocery shopping. And buy some sheets and stuff so I can return yours.”

“Want some company?”

She glanced up. “You don’t have to work today?”

“I work every day. And most nights. But I can ask Francyne to keep an eye on the office while I’m gone. I could use a break.”

After Jamie got her purse and shoes and locked the door, they walked to the front of the complex.

She stopped and inhaled the salty breeze. “How do you ever get any work done, living right here on the beach?” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the sun.

“I suppose, after a while, it’s like living in any other picturesque place. You sort of become immune to it.” He glanced out across the white sandy beach and watched the white-capped waves breaking on the wet sand, leaving a gray shadow on its perfection. How long had it been since he’d even looked at the beach, much less walked along it?

He pulled a pair of Ray-Bans from his Hawaiian-shirt pocket and slid them on. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been concentrating so hard on my book, along with my other jobs, I haven’t had time to get out much.”

“Really?” Her amazing blue eyes were wide when she turned to him. “What do you write?”

“I’m a mystery writer. Right now, I’m working on a series of books featuring the same private detective.”

Her gasp sent shivers down his spine. Clasping her hands together, she looked at him with what could only be described as awe. “Where can I buy them? This is so exciting! I’ve never known a real writer before!”

Damn, he hated it when people said stuff like that. “Ah, well, they’re not out yet.” Maybe never will be if he didn’t ever finish them. Or even one, for that matter. Then there was the lack-of-agent thing and actually submitting the finished manuscript to an editor.

Amazingly her animation didn’t dim. “Great! Then I can be the first to read it! You’ll let me read it before you send it out, won’t you?”

Would he? He’d never shared his work. He looked down at her smiling face and then lower to where the sun shone on her exposed cleavage and salivated. If her reading his manuscript got him closer to that, it was no contest. “Sure. If you really want to.”

Fairly skipping with happiness, she took his hand in hers. “Oh, great! I can’t wait!”

They walked, hand in hand for a while, along the boardwalk.

“Are we heading in the right direction?” Jamie scrunched up her nose, her hand shielding her eyes, and looked toward the first cluster of stores.

“Yeah, there’s a linen outlet up ahead and a little mom-and-pop grocery store at the end of the block.” He squeezed her hand a little, more than pleased to see her smile widen and feel her return the squeeze. “I thought, if you were hungry, we might have lunch after we hit the linen place and then go to the grocery store.”

“Okay.”

He could tell she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Instead she kept looking out over the beach, checking out every guy who walked past. He ground his teeth. When she almost stopped to stare at a tall guy who Rollerbladed down the walk, he could stand it no more.

“Jamie? Are you expecting someone? Looking for someone?” Maybe she was just wasting time with him while she waited for a boyfriend.

“Hmmm?” She turned back to look at him. “No. Why?”

“Well, you seem to be looking for someone.”

“No.” She shrugged, her tan skin sparkling with a fine sheen of perspiration. “Just taking in the sights.”

Taking in the sights. Right. He’d like to take in some sights himself. Sights like Jamie naked and glistening in the sun.

They walked past the ice-cream parlor, and he pictured Jamie, still naked, sitting on the table, her legs spread wide, bare feet on the bench on either side of his hips. He’d take his big scoop of ice cream and drag it along her pussy, then lean and lick it off. He swallowed a groan at the thought of how her sweetness would taste, mingled with the melting temptation of the ice cream.

“We can stop, you know.” Jamie’s voice broke through his daydream. “If you really want some ice cream. We can always eat lunch later.”

“What makes you think I want ice cream?” Oh, Lord, please don’t let him have said anything embarrassing.

“Well, the way you looked at the ice-cream shop and the little moan you did as we walked by.” She shrugged, and he held his breath when her cleavage threatened to make an escape over the edge of her plunging neckline.

To his disappointment, she hooked her thumbs under the edge of the bodice and tugged it back up.

“Do you want to get some ice cream?” she asked again.

“No, not unless you do.” He wasn’t sure he could live through the experience of watching her eat ice cream and not ache to fulfill his fantasy. “I’m not a big ice-cream eater,” he lied.

“Then let’s go on to the linen place.”

He’d never had so much fun buying sheets and towels. He and Jamie tried out small appliances, ate several samples, smelled every candle and still managed to fill their cart with bedding and towels.

“I still think you should have bought that flavored massage oil,” Jamie said while they waited in line. “It smelled great. Maybe you could have used it for inspiration in your book.”

Inspiration. She had no idea, standing there in her skimpy fuck-me sundress with all her luscious skin right there to tempt him, what it was he needed for inspiration.

She inspired him. Inspired him to do things he’d never thought about doing. Well, okay, maybe he’d thought about doing them, but never had he had a face to put on his dream girl. Until now. He knew exactly what he’d do with the pineapple-flavored oil.

He’d take the bright, tropical-print comforter she bought and lay her back on it in the cart. She wouldn’t have on any panties, for easier access. He’d stroke the sweet oil between her legs and then lick it away until she was writhing, begging him to fuck her, right there in the twenty-items-or-less lane. He wondered if they could do it on the moving conveyer belt without injury.

“Devon!” Jamie’s voice broke into his fantasy. “Cut it out. You’re pushing the cart into me.”

“Oh! Sorry.” At least she didn’t realize how he’d pushed the cart.
Get a grip, Mac. You don’t want to be banned from the shopping center
. “You ready for lunch?”

“Why don’t we take all this stuff back to the apartment first so we won’t have so much to carry.”

Devon insisted on carrying all the bags. She held on to his elbow to guide him since his view was obstructed. Where she touched him burned, but she refused to break contact.

All through the store, she’d fantasized about them being married and that they were buying stuff for their apartment. She’d caught a couple of girls eyeing Devon and glared at them, warning them off. For some reason, it felt like he was hers.

Maybe because he was safe. Or seemed to be. He wasn’t breathtakingly handsome. But sometimes…sometimes she caught a flash of such pure sex appeal it took her breath away. At those times she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if he shaved and cleaned up, dressed up a bit, he would be devastating. Literally oozing sex appeal, she’d have to lock him up to keep the women away. Hmmm…locking Devon up definitely had potential.

It was at that moment she had an epiphany: she wanted to make love with Devon. No, not something so innocuous. She wanted hot, raging, no-holds-barred sex with him.

Unfortunately she had no clue as to how to bring that dream to reality. Not without sounding like a total slut anyway.

A tall man walking along the beach several yards from them caught her attention. Fred? Her heart stumbled and then resumed its pace when she realized it was just her imagination.

“Hey! Hey!” Devon lagged back, shifting his load of white plastic shopping bags. “Wasn’t that the apartments we just passed?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the faded tile roof. “Oops. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I was just enjoying the breeze and the sights and sounds.” She directed him into the courtyard with its terra-cotta tile and colorful tiled fountain. For not the first time, she thought the Spanish hacienda style was very cozy and appealing. “The sign says there’s a pool. I thought it would be in the courtyard. Where is it?”

He walked into her apartment as soon as she opened the door and dumped the packages onto the sofa. Rubbing his back, he said, “It’s out back. It was supposed to be in front of the complex, according to Francyne, but the builder dug the foundation too close to the easement. Guess no one noticed until after the foundation had been poured.”

“Too bad. A pool with an ocean view would have been really cool.” She picked up the linens. “Which way is the laundry room? I want to wash and dry these before I put them on the bed.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I wondered why you bought detergent and softener at the bed place when it’s cheaper at the market.” He dug in his pocket and brought out a bundle of tokens. “And you’re in luck. The washers and driers don’t use money. We had a problem with kids breaking in and looting the machines. We use these little pink jobs now.” He held up the one-inch-by-two-inch plastic card the machines took instead of coins. “As a renting ploy, we even stopped selling them. So tenants can use the facility for free.”

“Why use anything? Why not just make the washers and driers work with the punch of a button?” She picked up the fabric softener and detergent bottles.

“Because anyone could walk in off the street and use them if we did that, and before you know it the machines would need replacing.”

She nodded. “Good point. Lead the way. I want to get a couple of loads going and then go to lunch. I’m starving!”

The laundry room was empty, so while Jamie made use of the washers, Devon went and picked up sandwiches at the corner deli.

A sack in his teeth and a drink in each hand, he was trying to figure out how to open the door or get Jamie’s attention when her laughter floated through the fragrant air coming through the vents in the door.

Giving up, he set the drinks down and turned the knob.

Just as he’d suspected, she was not alone. Chris and Drew flanked her like two waxed pit bulls, their laser-whitened smiles dazzling in their tanned faces.

The good news was that everyone remained fully clothed. The bad news was the fact that the men were there at all. Since when did they do their own laundry?

Reaching back out for the drinks, he stepped into the open door. “Hey, look who’s here.” He glanced meaningfully around at the empty washers. “Where’s your laundry?”