Touch Me (17 page)

Her gaze took him in, noting his wet lips and the burning blue of his eyes. Her inner core still pulsed with receding pleasure even as it felt too empty.

“This way,” he said, and tugged her from the wall.

Her bathing suit bottoms fell to her ankles as she moved. Stepping out of them, she wondered what was next. Were they going to the bedroom?

But of course they weren’t, because that wasn’t “adventurous.”

Or maybe it was just too far, because he impatiently kicked a kitchen chair away from the table and bent her, belly-first, over the wooden surface.

The man probably had condoms in the kitchen—actually she knew he did, she’d seen a box of them in his junk drawer—and she heard the telltale rip of a foil packet as she placed her burning cheek against the table.

He curled over her back, his mouth close to hers. She could smell her arousal on his face and the thought made her shudder. “Okay, Rose?”

For answer, she bucked back into his body. His laugh was low and dirty and the sound made her skin shiver and her sex clench.

His fingertips brushed the back of her thighs as he lifted the cover-up to bare her. Another wave of heady desire surged in her, fevering her skin. Instead of doing times tables, she was making pictures in her head again, imagining what he saw when he looked down at her: open thighs, wet, puffy sex, the crumpled disarray of the cover-up, her disheveled hair.

She longed to be penetrated by him, possessed by him, and she’d take whatever shameless pose necessary to make that happen.

Her fingers curled into fists as she sensed him stepping closer, and then one of his hands braced against her hip. She felt the knuckles of the other brush her inner thighs as he brought his cock to her opening. Then he was feeding that column of flesh to her, in tiny, breath-stealing increments.

It filled her, a burning, delirious intrusion, and she tightened on him.

He curled over her again, groaning. “Ease up, Rose. You gotta let me in.”

It was all she wanted and all she didn’t want. But her body obeyed, muscles relaxing so his next thrust took him to the hilt. Rose brought one of her fists to her mouth and she bit on the back of her hand to smother her moan.

Don’t talk
, she reminded herself.
Don’t give your mouth an opportunity to betray you.

Then Payne was moving, shuttling in and out of her. With each drive, she felt the scrape of denim against her thighs and her bottom and the fact that they were both half-dressed was an even bigger turn-on. She went on her toes to upturn her hips and take every inch of him. He groaned, the hand on her hip moving down to caress her butt. The rough skin of his palm was an aphrodisiac, and she felt pleasure rushing in again, heat and heaviness gathering at her center.

The slap of skin against skin was an erotic soundtrack to the sex act, and she squeezed shut her eyes, allowing herself to revel in the carnality of it all. Their bodies were hungry, eager, yin and yang gyrating with need, seeking out a purely physical sensation. Release didn’t require commitment or a relationship or even thought.

Fucking’s a state of mind.

She pushed those words away and shoved back into his next thrust. Payne grunted, his fingers digging into her butt cheek, the small pain making her even wetter. Maybe he sensed it, because he kept that tight hold on her as he quickened the driving action of his hips.

Biting harder on her hand, Rose felt the sharp pleasure jump like the needle on a seismograph. Her heart jolted in her chest, and Payne slammed into her with a heavy grunt. He ground deep and his hand slid around her thigh and found her clit. The first tweak of his fingers set her off, and as he stayed tight against her, pulsing with his climax, she found hers.

In the aftermath, she lay still, panting.

He didn’t move either, his breath loud in her ear, his chest heaving against her back.

“Rose,” he whispered, as if it was an entire conversation.

That was fine with her. In this vulnerable state, she remained leery of talk.

Then he found her fist on the tabletop, and he loosened it, spreading her fingers so he could interlace theirs together. Without her volition, her digits squeezed down on him, a tight, almost desperate hold.

Her eyes squeezed too, as in despair she realized just how easy it could be to give herself away without saying a single word.

Chapter Ten

Payne padded into the kitchen, bare feet quiet. The first thing he noticed was Rose’s bikini bottoms, discarded in a slanted square of morning light coming through the glass-paneled door. The sight tugged at his dick, making that little brain suggest a fast trip to the guest bedroom where they could wake her for an a.m. round.

Last night, he hadn’t let her sleep with him, of course. Christ, he didn’t kiss on the mouth, so he certainly wouldn’t let someone crash between his sheets. But when he’d helped her up from the kitchen table, she’d look so thoroughly sex-wrecked, that he’d guided her into the guest room and tucked her into the bed.

She hadn’t made a sound, just stared at him through sleepy, half-mast lids, her lips curved.

Who the hell knew what she’d been thinking then?

With her mission accomplished—orgasm by man—would she want another go?

And was that a smart idea on his end? Payne wasn’t like Bing, who before Alexa had a weird, effed-up rule about only bedding a woman once before moving on. But continuing with Rose…

Maybe if she woke up bright-eyed and smiling he could put her name in the Fuckable pages of his black book. But most likely she’d emerge from the room and pretend nothing had happened. In a few months she’d be engaged to marry dull Dustin and she’d only think of Payne in a vaguely fond manner for proving to her she could expect more from a man in the sack.

Or against a door.

Or over a table.

Striding forward, he squatted to retrieve the tiny piece of blue material. His thigh muscles complained, reminding him that less than ten hours before he’d been in just that position, giving Rose Dailey head.

His dick twitched again in his jeans and he licked his lips, remembering the taste of her, and the way she’d thrust her sex against him as she came. Beautiful. Her juices had saturated his beard and clung to his whiskers. He’d not washed it off—as a matter of fact he’d yet to shower—but instead slept with her sweet smell, traces of her arousal transferring from his face and hands to his pillowcases and sheets. Note to self: tell Rose not to change them anytime soon.

Rising, his quads shrieked at him again. Christ, he needed to up his leg workouts if he was going to be effective braking and changing gears once he got behind the wheel again. Race car drivers might sit on their asses, but they needed to be top notch aerobically and strong everywhere in order to endure the g-forces exerted on their bodies at high speeds.

The thought propelled him toward his weight room. Might as well get in a few sets of leg curls and extensions. But the path took him past the guest room and he paused there, unable to ignore the partly open door.

It was only ajar a couple of inches, but it gave him a direct view of the rumpled pillows and bed linens. He’d put Rose to bed naked, divesting her of the cover-up and unhooking her bikini top, but keeping his gaze on her face instead of stealing a glance at her breasts. She’d curled onto the mattress and he’d pulled the covers over her, only allowing himself a second to appreciate the delicate slope of her shoulders and the fragile bones of her spine.

Their raw coupling hadn’t besmirched her.

Now, she lay on her back, the sheets and comforter pushed down to her hipbones and he, shameless sinner that he was, looked his fill.

The salvage yard office had been shadowed, camouflaging some of her exquisite perfection. He knew her breasts were small and firm and he’d loved the way her nipples had hardened as he pressed them to the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Now, as the sunshine streamed through a high window and spilled over the bed, it bathed her in light, illuminating the tender peaks, their color a soft, nearly transparent pink.

They looked so innocent, the color of a young girl’s blush.

Like the one Rose had worn on that night so long ago. Then, like now, he wanted to grab her up, hold her close, inhale all the goodness from her hair and her skin, taking it straight into his tainted soul.

He’d resisted then.

His dick was hard all the way, aching. He stroked it over his jeans with the hand that still held her bathing suit bottoms. Why resist now?

Five strides, and he could plump her breasts between his palms, create a valley for his cock. She’d wake up to find him fucking her there.

And he knew the moment her eyes opened he’d climax, his seed white against her nude-and-pink beauty.

His hand gripped his shaft. He was a degenerate, no doubt. She was probably dreaming of kittens and cotton candy while he was thinking of rubbing his come all over those perfect breasts and nipples.

Gritting his teeth, he told himself to move away. Instead, he managed to shift his gaze upward…and felt a new ache in his chest. That face. Glossy hair, dark lashes, lush mouth.

Her voice sounded in his head.
Payne? What if I need that kiss?

His sudden, desperate need to give that to her was the only thing that spurred him to move away. Squeezing the bottom half of her swimsuit in his fist, he stepped farther down the hall.

Then, noise coming from the front door had him reversing direction. Not wanting Rose to be awoken, he hurried there, wondering who the hell was making an early visit. Through the reed glass sidelights, he could make out a familiar figure. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the piece of cloth into his front pocket and opened the door before she could ring the bell.

“Hello, Mom,” he said.

“Sweetheart,” she said, smiling at him as she pushed past him to enter.

Sighing, he realized he couldn’t ban her from the house. But he didn’t want her to know about his guest, so he was determined to get her on her way as soon as possible.

He lounged against a wall as she took a seat in the living room, then crossed her long legs. Her hand went into her oversized purse and came out with a cigarette.

Payne gave the object a pointed stare.

“Oh, all right,” his mother, Vanessa Payne Yee said, tossing it back into the caverns from which it had been plucked. “You’re so mean.”

Ignoring that, he took in her light tan and the T-shirt she wore with jeans and low-heeled, strappy sandals. In yellow-and-white, the cotton advertised a cruise line. “Did you have a good time on your vacation?”

“I think Gregory enjoyed himself.” A hint of anxiousness drew her brows together. “You should call him and ask.”

“Mom, I’m sure you’re a better judge of your husband’s state of mind than me.” Gregory Yee was an IT exec who had met Payne’s mother at a charity fundraiser two years before. String Bean Colson had paid the bearers of his children vast sums for custody papers and non-disclosure agreements and in the last decade Vanessa had devoted her time and her monies to volunteer work.

That new, consuming interest had given Payne an emotional break and his mother, finally, a husband who seemed to adore her in all the ways that Payne’s father could not care for anyone.

“I don’t know,” Vanessa said. “I want him to be so happy with me—”

“Mom.” Payne knew to interrupt the wave of insecurity before it started rising. He was an old hand at dealing with his mother’s fears and self-doubt. “Gregory thinks you hung the moon.”

She brightened. “You think?”

“Tell me about your cruise’s first stop.” Glancing at a nearby clock, he had hope she could wrap up her trip report in ten minutes or less. “I don’t have a lot of time this morning. I need to get to the new salvage yard.”

“Payne.” There was concern in her voice for him, and he tried to appreciate it because it was a fairly new phenomenon. “I’m sure you’re not cleared yet to drive.”

“I have an, uh, assistant.” He straightened from the wall. “As a matter of fact, the assistant should be arriving any second to drive me to work.”

“How did you find this person?” Vanessa asked. “I’d like to meet him.”

Payne stifled his groan, annoyed with himself for not seeing this coming. He was still unaccustomed to his mother’s ability to care about anyone but herself. That sounded mean, but it was true.

Also true, was that he was in no mood for one of her harangues about his treatment of women, the sure outcome of her encountering Rose. “Ren arranged the assistant, though I think it was Cilla’s idea.”

“Those two. They’re still engaged?”

“Yes, Mom. And a wedding date is imminent.”

His mother was shaking her head, as if amazed. “I hope that’s going to work out.”

“I’m sure it will,” he replied, trying to keep his cool. “I think they’re going to be very happy.”

Vanessa expression remained skeptical. “How would any of you kids even know how to conduct a marriage?”

It was a sentiment he’d expressed a hundred times himself. What the hell did they know of normal relationships? He scrubbed his hand down his face, and for a moment was distracted, as it brought Rose’s intimate scent back to life. An image of her in bed blossomed in his mind, but this time he was with her, both of them waking up together in the streaming sunlight. He leaned close for a morning kiss—

“Payne?” His mother’s voice was sharp. “Are you all right?”

Scraping his face again, he banished the fantasy and returned his attention to his mother. “I’m fine, Mom. And this has been nice, but I really have things to do. I’ll show you out and we can make plans—”

“Payne?” A new voice called.

Oh, shit.
His mother half-turned in her seat as Rose wandered from the kitchen and into the living room, blinking sleepily. Thank God she wasn’t naked, but what she was wore wasn’t much better. It was one of his Hawaiian shirts from the guest room closet. This one wasn’t X-rated, thank God, but was printed with pink hibiscus flowers on a black background. It swallowed her body and landed somewhere south of her pussy and ass, but he didn’t think it disguised the fact that she’d stayed over.