Turn It Up (23 page)

“And what would those be? ‘Open Sesame’ whispered toward your zipper?”

“Cute. More along thing lines of ‘I thee wed.’ Remind me again, how old will you be?”

“All you need to know is I’m legal…and lethal in the dress I bought. You can concede the contest right now because you haven’t a prayer of making it through the weekend unmolested. You’ll be dialing 911 before I’m through with you.”

“Here’s a number for you, Honey. 1-800-marry-me.”

Keying up the closing music, Charlie began the familiar ritual of signing off. “In your dreams, medicine man. Speaking of, it’s time to send Doc off to dreamland with visions of Honeypot dancing in his head. Farewell, our listeners. Remember talk is foreplay, use it and use it well. Love and kisses from Honey…”

“Be safe from Doc.”

“’Til we met again on the crest of the night, take care, lovers. Goodbye.”

Chapter Ten

He slept like Eros, the god of love, all golden flesh and sexual magic. Standing in the hallway peering into Bastian’s bedroom, Charlie watched in awe as the soft morning light played over his slumbering features. She tucked the house key into the side pocket of her purse and kicked off her sandals. A click rang out when the door latch caught, and her gaze jerked over her shoulder. The brush of her clothes falling to the floor echoed loudly in her ears but he didn’t stir, and a smile inched out. Dr. Hot was about to get his buns scorched.

With a firm grip on the peach-flavored lube, she tiptoed to the left side of the bed and slid beneath his sheet. The whisper of linen didn’t infiltrate his sleep, not even when her skin met his. Bastian slept half on his side, half on his back, but it was enough to bring his face close to hers on the pillow. The downy kiss she trailed across his lips was met with a sigh but not one of wakefulness. Her tongue followed her lips’ path and he shifted but never woke.

She pulled back and stared. Damn, and Bastian said she slept like the dead. With light but firm fingers, she trailed a line up his arm, across his collarbone and down his chest. A guttural noise mixed with an exhale but he didn’t move. She traced her name across his heart. A twinge halted her. Her in his heart. Bastian didn’t know how deeply in her heart he was, how much she needed him, how badly losing him would hurt.

The thought was too frightening to examine so she shoved it behind the wanton slut in her nature and let her fingers explore. Hard planes and lines defined his upper torso and she glided her touch across each one. She might tease him about his time spent in the boxing ring but the benefits were definitely worth it. Beneath her fingertips, his heart beat with a slow steady rhythm and she paused, just letting the power flood through her. A burnished copper dusting of hair tapered downward toward his navel, and she followed it with light caresses. His stomach tightened and she stopped. No, he was still asleep. But something was waking up.

A feminine grin erupted as the pale blue sheet rose, tenting beside his hip. Bastian shifted, murmuring in a low sleepy tone words she couldn’t make out. Her brow tightened. The hell with this teasing shit. She planted her lips on his and sank her hands into his hair. Bastian woke up…kind of.

A moan warmed her tongue seconds before his slipped into her mouth. One firm hand reached out and brought her close, molding her frame to his. A growing hardness poked into her thigh and Charlie nearly purred. Bastian normally didn’t sleep naked but apparently last night he had, and she was going to take full advantage of that. Still trapped in some erotic dream that better be featuring her, he assaulted her mouth with far more hunger than a simple wake-up kiss. What was he dreaming about? The whisper of her name curved her lips against his.

That was more like it.

His hand skimmed down her back, curled around her hip. Even asleep, his kisses bombarded her mind with sensual and provoking sensations. He nipped and licked with a passion that called to hers, drawing a storm from a rain shower. Warm, sleep-loosened muscles hardened, rolling her deeper into the pillow, his tongue sliding down her neck, his hard cock against her belly. Her arms wound around his shoulders, and she arched to give him access to her throat.

Maybe she whimpered, she wasn’t sure, but something jerked him to full wakefulness and his head reared back.

Bastian blinked rapidly, slivers of the dream sliding away. A double whammy of lust and surprise tore through him. He’d been having a dream, the type of dream a man hated to wake up from, only to discover it wasn’t completely a dream. She was here, naked beneath him, bare breasts visible in the morning glow.

“Charlie! What are you doing here?”

Her greeting was a side serving of tongue grazing along his collarbone, and a shudder worked from his lower spine to his shoulders. He couldn’t take this. Not this morning. Not so close on the edges of what had promised to be a hell of a wet dream.

“Giving you a wake-up call.”

She took his gaping mouth and his tongue automatically dove inside the warmth. Her fingers left his shoulders and smoothed down his ribs heading south. A groan rose from his belly. She was going to kill him, and rigor mortis wouldn’t be the only thing making him stiff. He tried to move away, to lift his body from hers, but her legs curled around his thighs. A brush of damp feminine flesh along his shaft froze him into place.
So close.

“Charlie, don’t do this to me.”

She nipped his neck. “You said you had a craving for honeyed peaches, remember?”

The sweet fruit fragrance burst into the room with a plastic click. His eyes snapped open, focusing on the clear bottle in her hand, and an internal lion roared.
She brought lube? Peach-flavored lube?
The scent married with dream images and his cock jerked in readiness.

A slick palm circled around him and an agonized moan ripped from his throat.

Heaven had to be peach-infused, or maybe it was hell. No, it was hell because her hand’s slow, sliding motion was pure torture. His hips thrust against her hold without permission. Too good, too tempting. If he didn’t get out of bed right this minute he’d lose it and drive so hard inside her she’d taste peaches for a week.

One knee came up to force himself to a stand but she tightened her fingers, and his teeth clamped shut.
Oh God.
His body listened to nature, not his brain. Her thighs fell open, begging for his touch. He did try, firming his stomach and peeling her grip from him. But it backfired and his hand brushed her core. So hot. So soft. He had to touch her again. Just once more.

The creamy heat beckoned him, welcomed the invasion, and he slipped one finger along a silken fold. She moaned around his tongue, her hips bowing upward. She wanted more. God help him, so did he. His finger sank inside her.

A growl rippled his gut. So tight. She was so tight. So wet the lube was an oxymoron. His thumb flicked up, over her clit, and she whimpered into his mouth. A rich womanly scent blended with artificial fruit essence, drilling through his olfactory nerves. He’d never kissed any woman with as much hunger as he did Charlie, and she gave back every ounce of her own appetite. Her hand on his shaft never slowed. The wet sucking noise mimicked the real thing and he fought a snarl.

Fighting Charlie was hard, fighting himself was harder and he wavered, longing to give in, to possess her as he’d wanted for so damn long. She was more than willing, more than ready, and he was hard enough to pound nails. He wanted to pound her instead.

A clench squeezed his finger and her hips rocked up. Mere inches separated them from joining, all he had to do was lower himself and slide inside that heated grasp. Her breathless whisper of his name almost undid him.

So close…so easy…so tempting…

He surged from her embrace, tore her hands from his quaking body and rolled away. He sucked in air in huge gulps.
Too fucking close.
He had to get out of here. The mattress clung too fiercely to the sheet so he thrust it off and grabbed his discarded boxers, holding them to his fully aroused erection. The ice pack he’d carried to bed lay on the floor and he kicked it in irritation.

“Damn it, Bastian!” Anger sharpened her tone. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to fuck me right now.”

Chest heaving with his struggle, he dared a look back to her. “No, I can’t. But I want more than right now. I want forever.”

Her jaw went rigid and her lips twisted into a sarcastic squiggle. “You know, I’d say screw the damn bet but I doubt you’d even screw that, would you?”

Crude. She got crude when she was hurting. He hurt her by pulling away, he knew that. But he had no choice. She was worth so much more than a quick fuck, couldn’t she see that? “Is this really still about a fucking bet to you?”

She pitched the clear bottle at him and he reflexively caught it.

“Don’t even try denying you’re going to jack off in the shower. Use that and know you could have the real thing instead.”

Her screech was muffled as he shut the bathroom door. The flip of the lock made her scream louder.

“Arg! I hate you right now, Sebastian William Talbot. I hate you with a passion. I hope you get chapped palms and a hangnail scrape. And you damn well better be thinking about me or I’ll make your life a living sexual hell!”

Like she isn’t already.
Bastian jerked the shower to hot and stepped under the stinging spray, ducking his head to let the water sluice over his face. Goddamn, she’d better say yes soon. She had to or he’d be fitted for a new white coat, one with sleeves in the back.

Now his balls ached from denial as well as trauma. He grabbed the peach lube with a growl. Doctor Bushani’s orders, after all, and he might as well let his imagination wander. It didn’t have far to wander, just the other side of the door.

Steam swirled around him and hot water pounded his scalp. He stayed there, letting the tensions bleed away on rivers of water. Charlie had no idea what she did to him. He’d been dreaming of her splayed beneath his mouth, her rich peach essence thick on his tongue. And she’d brought fucking peach lube into his bed! Oh, she was evil. The hard-on that hadn’t diminished at all jerked in need, and his hand dropped to it.

A palmful of slick orange gel heated to his body temperature and he closed his grip around his aching shaft. A groan threatened to erupt and he tamped it down. Bad enough she knew what he was doing, but he’d be damned if she listened to him moaning her name.

God, she was tight. Tighter than he expected, although that thought shamed him. Of course, she often announced after a station break how many Kegels she’d done during commercials. He’d never really believed her until now. His hand slid up and down, imagining sliding inside her slick walls. He’d never last inside her.

A heady scent filled the tiled room, lacing the steam with a summery fragrance that bordered on erotic. Peaches. Where in the hell had she come up with that little fact? Granted, she was right but he’d never thought about it until she mentioned it. Now he couldn’t get the fruit out of his mind. Silently, he vowed he would taste every crevice of her peach before finally taking her.

The dream returned in blazing color.
Charlie, moist and warm, thighs parting before him…his lips skimming her flushed skin…whimpers sounding above him…pale pink layers quivering beneath his tongue…juicy…peach succulence flowing against his lips while his tongue sought and found the tiny nub…so sweet…her hips thrusting to his mouth…capturing that bud and sucking, flicking his tongue over the pulse…ripe, so ripe for plucking…his name panting, her thighs trembling…fingers tightening in his hair…

Climax poured over him, hotter than the water and sweeter than the oil, while images of Charlie flooded him. A moan ripped from his belly, and he clenched his teeth but her name rasped from his lips. Thick ribbons of white arced against the tile.

His hand shot out to the wall for balance. Chest heaving, he blinked, clearing water and the sultry images away. Three things registered. First, other than a slight twinge, there had been no real pain. Second, there had been no blood mixed in the pearly white. Third, Charlie was clapping. He was relieved and mortified at the same time.

Charlie was grumpy. He’d grabbed his clothes and kissed her goodbye—a peck on the forehead, like she was a sister or something. Or a best friend. Not like someone whose name he’d just called out while masturbating. Spitefully, she’d flung off the sheet and cocked her leg, dropping her fingers to her wet cleft, daring him to watch. He’d shaken his head and sighed but left the room with just a towel around his waist. Damn him and his saintly restraint.

After a thoroughly empty orgasm she’d fallen asleep, then woken up in Bastian’s bed, alone. Whatever surprise he had planned was scheduled for tonight and she didn’t have a clue what it was. A note propped on the pillow simply told her to be gowned and ready at seven.

Ready for what?
Charlie grumbled up her mother’s back walkway. The white gate protested her entry with a squeak, and she twisted the doorknob. It didn’t budge. She tried again. Her mother never locked the back door.

“Mom?” Peering through the curtained window, Charlie could see shadows moving but no one answered the door. “Mom, it’s me. I need to pick up my laundry.”

An inside shadow grew larger as someone approached with heavy steps. The lock clicked and Caz stepped out, firmly shutting the door behind him. Tucking the tips of his fingers inside faded blue jean pockets, he rocked on his heels.

“Hey, Littlebit.”

“Boo? What are you doing here?”

“Uh…” Eyes shifting left and right, he stumbled for an excuse. Charlie waited through his obvious mental searching. “Nothing. I mean, yeah, Eddy and I have a date.”

“A date, huh?”

“Yeah, a date. Why? You have a problem with me dating your mom?”

“Nope. She can date whoever she wants although she prefers older men, not younger.”

His chin shot up. “Maybe I’m an exception.”

“Sure you are. Look, I just need to pick up my laundry.”