The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) (15 page)

He followed the sound of her voice, stopping short at the entrance.

Tiny white dress. Frills that clung to her hips, barely covering her ass. White thigh-highs and matching heels. Shiny wings and a halo.

Dean swallowed. “You made that?”

“I did. I found the pattern online after that picture gave me the idea.” She twirled around. “Guess I don’t suck with a needle and thread after all.”

She needed to stop talking about sucking. Not if she wanted to avoid ruining her costume.

She slipped out of her shoes, crawled onto his bed and sat back on her heels. “You like?”

He nodded gruffly. The ability to speak had escaped him.

“I thought you might.” She stroked one toned thigh. Her fingers danced toward her panty line. “Since it’s been your fantasy for so long.”

Just like that, the fuse that never seemed to die out blazed into flame.

She crooked her other finger at him, beckoning him to the bed as she leaned back and spread her legs. Dean dropped the towel and staggered toward her. Mind blitzed. Body on overdrive. Her hand snaked beneath white satin panties. One slow circle of her finger over her clit and he groaned.

“Do it,” he growled. “Let me see.”

Jamie grinned, lush curls spread out over his pillows, the dirtiest angel imaginable. Dean sat down next to her, never taking his eyes away from what she was doing. He was hard in an instant, his dick stiff and begging for attention. Jamie reached for his hand with her free one and brought it to her mouth, tongue gliding along his palm.

“Show me,” she said in between licks. “Show me what you’d do when you thought about me like this.”

Dean cursed and wrapped his now-wet fingers around his cock. His hips rocked forward in time with hers, and he fought against the urge to take her as his dick slid into the tight circle of his fist. She’d orchestrated this for him, and the grandest gesture he could make right now was to watch her every move and show her how damn much he liked it.

“Is the live show as good as the fantasy?” Jamie asked, breathless.

“Better.”

It was better than he’d ever dreamed. She was his sin and his salvation, all wrapped up in one pretty little package, moaning softly on his bed. She arched, jostling the halo, and something about seeing her all disheveled made it that much hotter.

He wasn’t going to last long. And apparently, neither was she. Her breathing skipped to that pattern of rapid, shuddery inhales.

“Keep looking at me,” she begged. “Love it when you stare at me like that.”

“Love watching you,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her free hand shot back to clutch the pillow behind her. “Dean—”

Her release seemed to split her in two, a powerful force that brought him there too, and Dean grabbed the towel before he made a mess of both of them.

Catching her breath, Jamie sat up and kissed his neck, a long, hot slip of her mouth on the column of his throat. He hissed when she scraped her teeth over the spot she knew he liked.

“All right,” he said. “If you’ve got that on, then what’s my costume? The devil?”

“It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

Dean chucked the ruined towel to the floor and leaned back against the bed. It was funny to sit here with his eyes closed, when he’d spent his life getting his kicks from having them open. Taking photos, fixing cars, getting a woman off—they were all based on him noticing things, when he’d failed to notice something essential about himself.

He’d thought he’d been keeping sex and emotions separate, but he’d been lying to himself all along. He’d been avoiding what he wanted most, thinking he was fulfilling his basic needs, but he’d had it backwards.

He was living without love. Surviving when he should’ve been thriving.

He should go back to school and thank his guidance counselor for making him take that art class. Shake the hand of his detention teacher. Tell them Dean Trescott finally made something of himself. But that wasn’t really what he needed.

“You can open your eyes now.”

She was standing by the bed, her hands empty except for her phone and a bag of Halloween candy.

“Uh, it’s kinda cold out there if your plan is to have me going to this party naked.”

“I thought we’d stay here instead. Just you, me and Michael.”

Dean frowned. “Michael?” He knew she was kinky, but not threesome-with-one-of-his-buddies kinky.

Jamie pressed a button on her phone. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasted from the speaker. Dean shook his head and laughed.

“Were we ever going to a party at all?”

“Nah. It was just an excuse to make this costume for you.”

Dean sat up and grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. She really was a prankster. His troublemaking fashionista jock.

“You’re nuts, you know that?”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, but that’s why you like me.”

“Love you,” he corrected.

And there was nothing more Dean needed than that.

About the Author

Rebecca Grace Allen spent her summers as a child amongst the rocky shores of Southern Maine, and considers New England to be her second home. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in English with a double concentration in Creative Writing and Literary Comparison as well as a Master of Science degree in Elementary Education, both of which seemed like good ideas at the time. After stumbling through careers in entertainment, publishing, law and teaching, she’s returned to her first love: writing. A self-admitted caffeine addict and gym rat, she currently lives in upstate New York with her husband, two parakeets, and a cat with a very unusual foot fetish.

You can find Rebecca online at
www.rebeccagraceallen.com
, on twitter at
@RGraceAllen
, or on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/rebeccagrace.allen
.

Look for these titles by Rebecca Grace Allen

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Sometimes A + B = O. Yes. Oh, yes. Just like that.

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Warning: This book contains a summer romance, dirty talk, dockside kissing, motorcycles and tattoos. Features a rebellious nerdy girl with an appetite for outdoor sex and light spanking, and a bad boy who’s turned good…or at least he’s trying.

When it comes to love, go big or go home.

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Warning: This book contains ex-friends with benefits crossing boundaries a second time, several steamy encounters on staircases, copious discussions about gay sex from a “straight” guy, a shout-out to magic buttons, and an especially memorable going away threesome.

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Brew Crew,
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Account Director Sloane Granderson has been given her orders by the CEO—tone down the antics of the “Brew Crew”, the guys at Huxworth Packard Advertising who work on their biggest account. Sure, they’re all puffed up, strutting egos, but they’re also the best and brightest creatives in Chicago. Including the newest recruit, disturbingly attractive Levi Wolcott.

Award-winning copywriter Levi is pumped to have been headhunted to Huxworth Packard to work on the beer account. But he’s not off to a good start when he and Sloane first meet in an embarrassing encounter in a hotel hall, and the Brew Crew’s merciless new-guy hazing doesn’t improve his shaky first impression. Even worse, Levi can’t ignore the intense attraction he has to Sloane.

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Warning: This book contains a hero with an award-winning, panty-melting vocabulary intent on the hard sell, and a take-charge businesswoman who doesn’t mind giving up control in the bedroom…and thinks panties are overrated, anyway.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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The Hierarchy of Needs

Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Grace Allen

ISBN: 978-1-61922-787-3

Edited by Christa Soule

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: July 2015

www.samhainpublishing.com