Free Cooking up a Storm by Emma Holly Page B

right now.’
    ‘I’m capable of having more than one “thing” at a time,’ he said mildly.
    Marissa tried to laugh. ‘I guess you think I should console myself with you.’
    He seemed immune to her scorn. Maybe he could feel the pulse racing in her wrist. Maybe he could see the sharp points of her nipples beneath her ragged white T-shirt. He tilted his head and looked up at her. ‘Do you only like women?’
    She yanked her wrist free and rubbed it. ‘I like men. Sometimes.’
    ‘Do you like me?’
    ‘How the hell should I know?’
    He inclined his head another degree. ‘Why not ask your cunt?’
    The word brought a flush to her face, though she’d said plenty worse herself. He had to be fifty, older than her father. He shouldn’t talk to her that way. But if he felt any remorse, he didn’t show it. Instead he spread his arms in invitation. He wore an old pair of Levis, velvet-soft and ripped at the knees. Helpless to stop herself, her eyes roved. Even in the moonlight, she could see his big erection. It filled the faded patches at his crotch, a strong, thick arch. Marissa’s pussy went soft at the sight, more than ready to take him up on his offer.
    ‘Here?’ She looked at the tiny lights on Indian Neck, at the oyster boat bobbing within shouting distance. ‘Out in the open?’
    ‘The moon likes you,’ he said. More of his crazy Zen shit.
    She accepted the compliment with a toss of her head. ‘I want to be on top,’ she said, setting the terms up front.
    He grinned. She couldn’t remember seeing him do that before, not full out and flashing teeth. It made her feel good to have inspired it. Her feet seemed to move by themselves. She straddled his thighs, Valkyrie-style. The ankle boots made the pose more effective. Jack stroked their thin leather with his fingertips, travelling up the black laces and down the stretchy insets that hugged her ankle bones. Funny. Gemma had liked her in the ankle boots, too — the ankle boots and nothing else. Maybe men and women had more in common than she’d realised.
    Jack called her back to the present by sliding his hands up her legs. He tested each muscle with a squeeze: ankle, calf, thigh. Her legs were kind of skinny but they were strong and long. Jack set his forehead on her thigh and breathed out softly, as if he was tired, or maybe just overwhelmed. Whatever, the warm puff of air made her pussy go hot. With sure and gentle hands he rolled her bike shorts down.
    She wore no panties. He cursed and closed his eyes as his fingers found her bushy mound. He combed through her hair, tickling, grazing, spreading the little trickles of wetness that slipped past her lips.
    She couldn’t keep her footing while he did that. It made her feel more than she expected. Stepping out of the bike shorts, she braced on his shoulders and knelt. His hands slid down her back and cupped her bottom. He pulled her closer until her lips parted round his denim bulge. God, he was warm. She wriggled up and down, mashing her clit into his hardness.
    ‘Are you a noisy fuck?’ he asked.
    Marissa stiffened.
    His lips whispered down her cheek. ‘Would you rather I said “make love,” Marissa? Because it’s bound to be a bit of both.’
    ‘Just make it fast,’ she said, unsettled, off-balance. ‘Remember, it’s my butt hanging out for all to see.’
    He laughed and peeled down his zip. She watched him free himself from his briefs. He had an OK-looking thing, she supposed. The shaft was long. The head was kind of pointy, though, and it veered left a little. Not that she cared. In fact, it was kind of interesting. She touched the bullet-shaped cap. It quivered under her hand. She liked that. He pulled a condom out of his pocket and showed her how to roll it on. His preparedness almost made her believe he had been waiting for her.
    ‘You have done this before?’ he asked, his voice just as hoarse as an ordinary man’s would be.
    ‘A few times.’
    ‘Well, don’t force yourself,