Provocative Professions Collection (38 page)

"Sorry, geez," she huffs in a whisper and storms off, but too late.

Like a glutton for punishment, I look back at him, already positive what I'll find.

He's frozen in place, still facing away, the quick rise and fall of his shoulders and back muscles the tell-tale sign—he heard.

He knows I'm standing here, watching him.

My mind reels as I pivot on a heel and dash back to my register, willing my chest to stop heaving. I've almost accomplished as much when Vaughn, complete with damp hair, cocky swagger, and cheeky grin, saunters up to the counter. "How long 'til you get off?"

Oh the possible answers—or follow-up questions—I could spout in response. But instead, I feign fascination with breaking quarter rolls into my drawer and reply in this nasally, mortified sound that has me ready to slit my own throat, "'Bout an hour."

"Want me to wait around with ya?" It's sincere; deep, sexy, and toe-curling, but genuine.

"No, no, that's okay," I mumble, still making a show of counting coins, suddenly a chickenshit who can't look up.

WTF is wrong with me?

"Suit yourself," he teases, lifting the lid and grabbing a jawbreaker from the glass jar. "I know where ya live, I'll find ya. Soon. Be safe, Firecracker."

The suggestive proposal in his voice rings clear, leaving me desperate to accept, right before he loudly pops the candy in his mouth and turns to leave.

This is so not good. I'm never off my game, intimidated, or embarrassed. Which means there's something different about this guy. Even if I'm not willing to admit it, my body and subconscious already have.

Well, fuck!

Chapter 5

Another long night of a paycheck in the books, I drag my tired ass into the apartment and toss my stuff wherever it lands. Lucy immediately accosts me, hungry and sick of being cooped up alone. I swear Amelia is
never
here, so I give Lucy a quick rubdown and get her fed before heading to the shower.

The shower.

As I strip off my clothes and step beneath the hot spray, I relive every moment in my mind's eye. The taut, carved body of Vaughn Stone, beads of water gliding down each rigid muscle, might be just the vision I need to finally turn my nightmares into dreams.

It's nearing dawn when I get dried off and into my sleep shorts and tank, so I roll the blinds closed tighter and pull the drapes, then climb under the covers. I nuzzle down in my pillow, eyes falling shut, and right on time, pictures of him fill the darkness behind my lids. The last thing I remember is him looking over his shoulder, cocksure grin goading me as he extends a hand and asks me to join him. Then sleep takes me.

"Lucy, scram!" I groan, leaving my eyes shut as I blindly reach a hand back to swat her away.
Damn cat!

She tries again, rubbing her
hand
—

"What the hell?" I scream, shooting up to find the owner—
obviously
not a cat—of the hand that was just groping my ass. "Vaughn, you better hope I'm still dreaming and you're not
actually
in my bed!"

And this, friends, is why we don't speak in our "others can hear me" voice until fully awake and coherent. Because I'm only now registering that I just told the handsome face currently battling back his smirk that I was dreaming he was in my bed.
Son of a bitch.

"Lie back down, Snugglebutt, it's too early." He pats the spot beside him.

"Vaughn! My bed." I squint my eyes and tilt my head. "
Why
are you in it? And
Snugglebutt
? I just threw up a little."

"Shhhh." He winks then points to the ceiling. My room is dark, but enough morning light's filtering its way through the window that I distinctly catch the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. This morning they're a steely blue, like jeans that started dark and got washed a million times.

I'm forced to break my stare when my ears finally communicate the racket above us to my brain. "Oh my God!" I gasp, eyes popped wide and jaw dropped. "You weren't kidding." I lie down on my back, hands folded over my stomach, and stare up. "It's like, six in the morning!" I whisper shout.

"They love morning sex," he explains, then turns his attention to me. "As do I." He scoots flush against my side, a very large erection gouging into my hip as he buries his face in my hair.

"Yes, yes, yesssss!" my
cousin
—my book reading, cat loving, always blushes and wears her hair in a bun cousin—
wails
from above. I cringe in humiliation
for
her. It's kickass she's finally getting some, but I doubt the whole building cares to celebrate with them.

"Why aren't you in
her
bed? You know, the empty one down the hall?" I shove his head away, but he only grins and rests his forehead back against my cheek. "I feel like I should warn you, I own a gun. And I'm an excellent shot."

"I know I don't have to point it out to you, my lil' shower spy," he lifts his head and winks, "but I'm a guy. Empty bed of roommate's woman," he holds up his left hand, "or bed of smokin' hot single Firecracker." He then holds up his right, moving them up and down like weighing scales. "No dicker—climbing in with you every time."

"Shawwww!" Amelia draws out her moan, rattling the damn ceiling, but I'm not distracted; amazing in itself.

"No
dicker
?" I ask him.

"What, you think I'd say 'no brainer' when we both know that's
not
what made the decision for me? Just being honest." He shrugs and grins. "Definitely a no dicker. Now come 'ere." He slings an arm across my stomach and drags me to him.

"Did you even hear the part about
the gun
?"

"Yup." He skims his nose along my shoulder, then down my arm, inhaling. "Good for you, there're a lot of crazies out there."

"
Out
where? He's in my bed," I quip.

"Give it to me, Amelia, right fucking now," a deep, male command resounds.
Shaw,
I assume, whom I met once via wave across the parking lot.

"Hang on, you gotta hear this." Vaughn laughs, glancing up.

"Oh, oh, Shaw," Amelia pants, then…squeals the most annoying, skin-peeling sound ever made in the history of noise.

"Holy shit!" My hand flies to cover my mouth.

"Told ya, like a baby pig in brand new mud." He roars in delighted entertainment, watching me, and I can't help but join him. Not only are his bright, dancing eyes and the curve to his lush mouth contagious, but if you don't laugh, you'll go insane.

"That can't possibly be real," I manage through my laughter. "What the hell is he doing to her?"

His eyes shift into smoldering curiosity and his tongue glides along his bottom lip. "Haven't you ever lost control like that?"

"God no. Nothing
human
sounds like that."

"What's your noise, Paige Patterson?" he growls, stroking one foot up my calf as we lie on our sides, facing each other.

"I don't have one anywhere near that loud. I'd
never
fake anything just to boost a guy's ego. He either gets the job done or he doesn't." I pop the shoulder I'm not resting on. "And even if he does accidentally stumble his way into giving me a mini-gasm, it would
never
constitute that." I point up. "And there's no way you've
really
made a woman get that loud. Admit it." I quirk one eyebrow and simper, suddenly wanting very much to ruffle his feathers.

"Paige," he rumbles in warning, but his Adam's apple bobs and nostrils flare, telling me I'm winning.

"What? It's no big deal. Oh sorry, I didn't mean
not big
like
that
." I cover my antagonistic giggle. "I meant, you don't have to admit it. I was just razzin' ya."

"If you wanna see my dick, ask, like a big girl," he dares right back.

Do I want to see it? Shit, who am I trying to snow? I've wondered length, width, and curve or no curve at least twenty times just this conversation alone.

"I wanna see your dick," I respond, blunt and unapologetic.

Without further ado, his face also stoic and intense, he throws back the blanket revealing the gray boxer briefs, his only clothing, and whips it out. Just like that.

Well, the whole bark worse than his bite theory just died on the vine. Vaughn Stone is hung like a prize bull, and no curve.
Sure, sure, I mean, why wouldn't he be freakishly packing?
I've suspected all along, and now have firsthand—well, first-eye, I haven't touched it
yet
— confirmation that the "cock of the walk" confidence he exudes is completely and understandably warranted.

But I don't need
him
to know that. And I've already ogled the abnormally thick, intimidatingly lengthy member of this impromptu party too long, so…I do what I always do and make a snarky joke of deflection.

I roll over and grab my phone, then quickly face him once more. "I want a picture of that beast!" I rib, acting like I'm really going to do it.

"Ah, Firecracker." He lunges for me and I flush in embarrassment at the squeal he conjures from me as an intriguing game of keep-away ensues. "You don't need a picture, the real thing's right here. You think you can handle it?" He wrestles the phone out of my hand, tossing it aside all while remaining on top of me.

Every last inch of him covering me, my hands pinned up over my head, I groan, squeezing my eyes shut. I'd poked the beast and now that he's calling my bluff, my cold feet are screaming at me. Something tells me games with Vaughn might test everything about myself, and some things I've yet to discover. It suddenly hits me—for the first time ever, I might actually lose.

"Just because you've got it, doesn't mean you know how to use it," I pant, turning my head to the side.

"Paige," he grazes the tip of his tongue up my now exposed neck in lazy torture, "I could make you come until you scream stupid without even using my dick. The ways I'd satisfy this tight fucking body of yours…" He licks the shell of my ear before gruffly whispering into it, "I would have you so wet, that cock that's got your eyes bulging and heart racing would slide right in."

Damn myself, I moan and shift under him, seeking contact.

"You're dripping for me right now.
Admit it
." He uses my own taunt against me, grinding his erection in between my quivering thighs.

Head still turned away and eyes closed, I nod and he thrums in approval.

"That's good." He nips at my earlobe, neck, shoulder. "I'd like to do something about that for ya, but you're gonna have to look at me first. Why so shy now, hmmm? That smart mouth all talk?"

He's good, saying exactly what he should to ensnare me. In one swift move, I roll us, gaining the top position with a triumphant grin of my own. "How's this for all talk?" It comes out more raspy than playful, but the sizable distraction wedged against my pussy is doing jumbling things to my badass facade.

"Very cute," he says, gripping my waist. I yelp as he rolls us again, pinning me flat on my back, "but you don't run this show, Hotshot. I'm glad to see you're not a dud, though. That firecracker you light, hurry away, and nothing happens, then you're unsure if you can creep back up to it or not. I knew the spark in you was real." He traps both my wrists in his left hand and glides his right down my side, brushing the side of my breast and pushing up the bottom of my tank. "And I'm about to watch you explode."

I knew I loved that nickname.

"Sweet lil' belly, babe." His head dips to suck and kiss at my navel, flicking my belly button ring with his tongue. "Sexy, but I'm dying to see this." He pulls down one side, then the other, back and forth, 'til I'm without my shorts.

"I don't have any condoms," I seethe, wishing my hands were free to slap myself.

"Not gonna fuck ya." He tears his eyes, riveted on my pussy, away to meet mine and winks. "Yet."

"Wh-what?"

With a quick, soft laugh, he lowers his head again, this time brushing his lips across mine. "Mmm hmm," he hums, slipping his tongue into my mouth, warm and caressing, but equally rough and virile.

I struggle against his lock on my wrists, wanting to touch him, but he just chuckles through our kiss, apparently finding sadistic pleasure in driving me mad. First it's wild, an open mouth devouring, then leisurely, almost tender and…loving?

No, as soon as the absurd thought crosses my hazy mind, he adds small bites, only to start over again.

It's a mouth fucking and it's phenomenal.

When he finally breaks from my lips, both of us heaving breathlessly, an easy smile alights his face. "May not fuck you yet, but I
am
about to eat that pretty bare pussy of yours 'til you come all over my face. You want that?"

"Yes," I whisper, shocked what his graphic, but surprisingly not crude or offensive, words do to my resolve or whatever lame attempt at refusal I was even contemplating.

"Get your shirt off," he grumbles, releasing my hands, entranced with his own progression up the inside of my thighs, "now."