Open Season Read online

  “I thought they were lying,” she gasped, barely aware that she was even speaking.

  “Who?” he asked against her throat.

  “Women. About this.”

  “This?” He didn’t sound very interested. He found that sensitive place on her neck again, and held it with his teeth.

  “The way it feels. This.”

  “How does it feel?” he whispered.

  “I. . . throb.” She could barely get the words out. “Between my legs.”

  A rough sound burst out of his throat and a shudder ran through him, his erection pulsing against her. “I’ll make it stop,” he said, his tone so low and rough the words were barely intelligible.

  He slid his hands up her legs, tugging the close-fitting dress up as he went until the fabric was bunched over his forearms and his hands were inside her panties, his hot palms cupping her bottom for a moment, just a moment; then he moved them down, down, his fingers delving into her closed cleft and finding her opening. Daisy gasped, the sound strangling in her throat as her whole body seemed to seize, waiting, frozen in anticipation. Then he pushed two big fingers up into her and all her nerve endings rioted, arching her against him in a mindless search for more. Oh, God. She was stretched, penetrated—and it wasn’t enough.

  Her hips began to move, surging like the tide. “More,” she managed to say, begging, whimpering the word. “More.”

  She couldn’t seem to do anything except cling to him as he stripped her panties down and off, retrieved a condom from his pocket, then kicked off his shoes and fought his way out of the rest of his clothing. Naked, holding her to him, he stumbled back to sit on the couch and pull her over him, arranging her legs so that she straddled his lap. He put on the condom with quick, jerky movements, then grasped her hips and guided her into position.

  Abruptly, time slowed. She gripped his shoulders at the feel of his penis probing between her legs, not inside her but nudging, as if enticing her to open and admit him.

  Her breath came in quick little gasps; his bellowed out of his lungs. His jaw was set, his neck corded with strain, and yet he remained still and let her set the pace. The wonder of it suffused her. She moved back and forth in a subtle motion, caressing herself with the hard length, lifting and moving and—ah. He slipped into her, just a little, but enough to make him clench his teeth on another rough sound. His fingers bit into her buttocks, then relaxed.

  Entranced, the expression in her eyes distant as she concentrated on the sensation of heat and stretching and fullness, Daisy lifted herself once more, settled, and took the broad head fully inside her. Jack groaned, his face twisted as if he were in pain. He shifted so his hips were on the edge of the cushion, stretching out his legs so she could take him at a deeper angle. She rose and fell, her eyes closing, savoring the slow, slow impalement as she squirmed and adjusted and finally, finally, he was completely inside her.

  Magic.

  That’s what it felt like, her body not her own any-more but moving with a will of its own, twisting, seeking. She reveled in his size and nakedness, in the way she felt him deep inside where she had never been touched before. She loved the harsh sounds he made, loved the growing desperation of his grip, loved the increasing tension and heat of her own body as sensation wound tighter and tighter, and she leaned forward to kiss him, as everything suddenly reached critical mass and her senses exploded. The world dimmed around her. She heard herself shrieking and sobbing, felt her hips frantically surging against him; then abruptly she was on her back and he was pounding into her and she climaxed again just moments before he stiffened and heaved in his own orgasm.

  In the aftermath she lay limply under his heavy body, comfortable on the overstuffed cabbage rose cushions. The cool air fanned against her sides, while perspiration glued their fronts together. She nuzzled her face against his throat, inhaling his heady, musky scent. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “You had a condom in your pocket in church,” she managed to say weakly, suddenly bemused by the thought.

  “Yeah. I kept waiting for lightning to strike.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he could barely speak.

  She smoothed her hand down his muscled back, over the coolness of his buttocks. “Did you just have one?” she whispered.

  He lifted his head and smiled down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hair dark with sweat. “You still have the PartyPak, don’t you?”

  FIFTEEN

  The afternoon was her dream come true. First he decided he needed sustenance, so she slapped an ice cream bar into his hand and led him to the bedroom. He licked the last bit of vanilla off the stick while she turned back the covers. Then she pushed and he toppled and she jumped on top of him, rubbing herself like a cat against his strong, naked body. She felt his reaction twitching between her legs and curiosity overtook her. She rolled off and knelt beside him, wrapping both hands around his erection and studying it in delight.

  Because the afternoon was her dream and she had always wondered, she leaned down and took him in her mouth. He tasted salty and smelled of musk, and she loved the way his penis pulsed and thickened. Entranced, she experimented with licks and swirls, then began investigating the underside leading down to his testicles

  Maybe she was going too fast, because he said, “My turn,” and dumped her on her back. In a flash he was on her, pinning her down, settling between her thighs. Then he propped on his elbows and grinned down at her. “I’ll let you have your way with me later, I promise. Just not right now.”

  The weight of him was delicious. She squirmed just a little, loving the way his hips fit between her legs and how naturally her thighs had parted for him. The position was wonderful and comfortable and exciting. “Why not right now?”

  “Because I want to do it to you, and I’m bigger.”

  So he did, kissing his way down her body and lingering at all the right places. When he finally worked down to where she really wanted him, she thought she would die from the intensity of her climax. Oral sex was every bit as stupendous as an article in Cosmo had said it was, and Jack was very good at what he did. While she was still quivering in the aftermath, he crawled up so that his penis was nudging her again. “Where’s the PartyPak? We need it now.”

  “Let me up,” she panted, both exhausted and eager. “I’ll get it.”

  He rolled off, and she staggered to the closet, where she had put the PartyPak on the shelf under the box containing her sea shell collection. She pulled it free and began tearing at the cellophane wrapping. Without looking, she grabbed out a condom and handed it to him.

  A peculiar expression crossed his face. “I’m not wearing a purple condom,” he said, handing it back.

  She looked down at the condom. “It’s grape.”

  “I don’t care if it’s tutti-frutti; I’m not wearing a purple condom.”

  She dropped the offending condom on the rug and took out another one. Blueberry. She looked at it and wrinkled her nose, then dropped it.

  “What’s wrong with blue?”

  “It would make you look... frozen.”

  “Trust me, it isn’t frozen.” But he didn’t pick up the blue condom. She took out a cherry one, of a particularly violent shade of red, and shook her head.

  “What’s wrong with that one?”

  “Nothing, if you want to look infected.”

  “Jesus.” He flopped back on the bed and stared imploringly at the ceiling. “Isn’t there a nice pink one in there? The bubble gum flavor?”

  “I guess that would be the fuchsia,” she said doubtfully, taking it out and examining it. She’d never seen any bubble gum that particular shade. She sniffed it; a faint scent came through the wrapper. Definitely not bubble gum, though she wasn’t certain exactly what it was. Strawberry, maybe; whatever it was, she didn’t care for it. She rooted around in the box, but couldn’t find anything that could possibly be bubble gum flavored. “I’ve been stiffed. There’s no bubble gum in here.”

  “Swear out a warrant tomorro