Free Lipstick on His Collar by Inez Kelley Page B

around him. His frayed breath sailed over her damp nape followed by his tongue. Low, chanting naughty words, strings of murmured eroticisms without cohesion, whispered along her skin. His body started to shake and a raspy moan tore from his mouth. “Oh, fuck, gonna come.”
    One hard pulse of his cock pushed her over the fragile edge. White heat flared and jerked every muscle in her body rigid. Her flattened hands curled into fists and stars exploded behind her pinched-closed eyes. Bram exhaled a wild, vibrating roar and surged hard one last time. The ripples in her pussy pulled at him as she cried his name. Time did not exist in their cocoon of throbbing release.
    The squeal of angry tires on the frozen pavement opened her unfocused eyes. She peeked out the slotted, broken blind. It took two swallows of a dry throat before she could speak. “He left.”
    “Who cares?” Bram pressed his forehead to her shoulder blade and his soft chuckle danced down her spine. “I can’t believe we did this…here, like this.”
    His laughter spurred her own and a breathless giggle erupted. “Want to do it again?”
    “Can we find a bed first?”
    “You’ll have to let go of me.”
    “I’ll let go of you.” He dropped a hard kiss to her back and circled her waist. “But I’m not letting you go.”

    Silence echoed and the click of the light switch rang loud in the dim Laundromat. Bram exited the restroom and slung the duffle strap over his shoulder. Folding his laundry had been a memorable experience, filled with stolen kisses and longing caresses. Her mangled tank top and bra had been thrown away but she kept the split shorts around her hips. He’d sheepishly offered her a tee shirt warm from the dryer to cover the damage he’d done but she’d refused. Instead, she tugged his brown sweatshirt on, saying it smelled like him. That stroked some primordial masculine instinct.
    A few early flurries blew in the open side door and he smiled. She’d taken the trash out and was waiting for him. Only the first tread of the narrow stairs leading up to her apartment was visible but it beckoned to him like a promise. He took two steps before a string of profanities tightened his chest. The crack of a fist meeting flesh spurred him to a run.
    Jason had her pinned against the pale yellow siding of the neighboring building. Dark red streamed from her nose, over her chin and dripped to the gravel below. Her loose hair fisted in his hand, Jason screamed into her face. Bram couldn’t make out the words over the pounding of angry blood in his head. Possession swelled and decades-old memories of football practices leapt forward. He tucked the pack like a ball and burst through the doorway with a howl, taking Jason down in a brutal tackle.
    The gravel bit into his elbows and knees but he didn’t let go, rolling Jason belly-down onto the wintry ground. Planting one knee in the small of his back, Bram gripped the short blond hair and, despite knowing better, allowed rage to overcome him. He rubbed that smug face into the gravel until blood dotted the cold stones. “Back off!”
    “She’s mine,” Jason spat, bucking at his hold. “You had no right to touch her.”
    “You had no right to hit her, asshole.”
    Battling the palpable urge to redecorate Jason’s pretty face with broken skin and bruises, Bram shoved to a stand. Whistling blustery weather tossed his hair and shivered down the neck of his shirt. A white vapor streamed from his lips as he pointed to the man on the ground. “You stay the hell away from her.”
    “You don’t mean anything.” Jason’s livid eyes glistened with fury. “You’re just a fuck buddy, a one-night stand. I’m the one she loves.”
    “Oh, go to hell, Jason.” She wiped the sleeve of Bram’s sweatshirt across her lip and glared at her ex. “I left your sorry ass and don’t want you now. Do yourself a favor and get some help.”
    “You screwed him in the Laundromat and I’m the one who needs help?