Читать книгу Hot In Here - Susan Lyons - Страница 6

Jenny could barely catch her breath as she scrambled to keep up with Scott. The backpack she’d slung over one arm banged against her hip with every step. Tough on her hip, not to mention the camera inside the bag.

But who cared? She’d done it. She’d seduced the hottest firefighter in Vancouver!

He yanked her through a heavy exit door and they were outside on a landing above a short flight of concrete steps leading down into a back alley. Not the most romantic setting. Where was he taking her?

Two steps down, Scott stopped, made one of those mangled, tortured sounds only a guy can emit, said, “Fuck,” and whipped around to face her.

The expression on his face told her that setting—and romance—were the last thing on his mind. Sex. He wanted down-and-dirty sex, this very minute.

She set down her bag and had just started to worry about their more-than-a-foot height difference when he solved the problem. He gripped her waist and hoisted her up. Automatically her hands circled his neck and locked. Her skirt was up around her hips, her legs hooked themselves around him and his hands cupped her thonged butt, holding her securely.

Not only strong, but superefficient.

She gazed up at him, a little stunned, and his lips came down on hers. Jesus!

His tongue was in her mouth. How had that happened? How could it feel so good?

Tongue, dick…. Her body responded to the first as if it were the second, each stroke of his tongue making her needy pussy clench.

Hungrily she sucked that sexy tongue, danced with it until it retreated, and then she followed it back into his mouth, pursuing, taking back the lead. She drove her hands through his hair, held his head, tilted it just where she wanted it and deepened the kiss. Deeper and deeper, kiss after kiss.

Until she had to break away, gasping for breath.

She stared at Scott and he stared back. He was gasping, too, his naked chest heaving under the open vest. She wanted to lick that chest, all over.

After she got her breath.

He was leaning against the metal railing that ran along the staircase and didn’t even seem to feel her hundred pounds. The heavy denim of her skirt bunched between them, keeping their lower bodies apart. She wished she could strip it off, but settled for lifting it even higher so—

Oh, yeah, he got it. He adjusted his hold so he could press against her, matching his erection to the wet crotch of her panties.

She pressed back, hooking her feet into the railing behind him and using it to give herself leverage. Rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Which she pretty much was.

Had any cat ever felt this desperate for a dick?

She threw her head back, saw the dimly starred canopy of a hot August night, closed her eyes, let her whole being focus on the need between her thighs. She wanted him inside her but she was so aroused that even this stimulation, through their clothing, might be enough. He was hard and thick under those tux pants. And the fabric was thin; it even created a delicious friction. The tension in her body mounted with each up-and-down rub.

He was helping her, supporting her butt and lifting her, catching her own rhythm and improving on it.

“Oh, yeah, Scott,” she panted, “just like that.”

“Take me,” he gasped. “Take what you need.”

“I…” She’d run out of words, her orgasm was building. All she needed was—

“But take it quick!”

And he gave her exactly what she needed, pulling her against him as he thrust hard at just the right angle, unerringly finding her swollen clit. Then she was soaring, tumbling, crashing, flying, and—oh, my God—shrieking out her pleasure in an alley in the heart of downtown Vancouver.

She buried her face in his shoulder, embarrassed, thrilled, worried her cries would bring someone running.

“Jenny, I have to—” Abruptly he thrust her away, just when she was enjoying the after-explosion glow, the feel of his taut skin over muscle, the musk of sweaty male.

“No,” she protested as he planted her on the concrete step, where she swayed on trembling legs. She caught at the railing to steady herself, yanked down her skirt and glared at him.

The glare was wasted because he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face clenched. In fact it seemed like every muscle in his body was clenched. He was leaning back, his hands gripping the railing as if his life depended on holding on.

And then she got it. He was on the verge of orgasm himself.

From satiation she went to immediate arousal.

Scott felt fingernails graze his belly, then two fingers slid into the waistband of his pants. He jerked away. “Jesus, don’t touch me.”

When he opened his eyes, Jenny was smiling up at him, her own brown eyes dancing in the night light. “Your turn,” she said huskily. “I want to see you. To watch you come as hard and wild as I did.”

Christ! He clenched the muscles in his groin, fighting to hold back. If she unzipped his pants, he’d be a goner the moment she laid a finger on him.

“Not this time.” He forced out the words. Not now, when he’d make a fool of himself in front of her. Maybe one day…. Crap, no, he couldn’t even let himself think about it.

“You…don’t want to come?”

“Jesus! Of course I fucking want to come!” Didn’t she realize every cell in his body had that single-minded urge? “Inside you!”

“I won’t argue with that. But where? Here?” She glanced around.

He did, too. Anyone could come along the alley or out the back door of the Caprice. They’d been crazy to do what they’d done. Besides, it was dirty out here, and the air held the faint reek of garbage and urine.

Jenny deserved a hell of a lot better than this, not that she’d been complaining a minute ago. Still, she was a girl, she’d like a comfortable bed. He could hold out. Couldn’t he? Even if it killed him? “You wanna go back to your place?”

“No!” The word burst out of her.

Well, damn, the girl was as horny as he was. “My truck’s got a big cab.”

“Your truck?” She glanced around. “Um, sure.”

His erection had subsided enough that he could walk, thank God. Hand in hand—man, was she tiny—they walked down the alley to the open-air lot where he’d parked. The other firefighters who’d attended the competition had gone. He could tell because his Ford F-150 was the only truck in the lot. The few other vehicles were definitely not firefighter wheels.

He took her by the waist and lifted her into the passenger seat. No way could she have climbed up there herself without a struggle, she was such a shorty.

Short, and small. Perfectly proportioned, but miniature.

She held out a hand. “Come on up.” Her fingers were small, slim and graceful, tipped with long nails painted pink, a couple of them with glittering stones embedded in them. It was the most girlie hand he’d ever seen.

She leaned toward him and her hair swung forward, gleaming, silky, alive. He had a vision of a Hawaiian woman under a waterfall, washing her hair.

Sexy hand, sexy hair. Could he get any harder without bursting?

Scrambling into a truck sporting a fire-pole boner wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but once he’d made it, he got right down to business. It had been a while since he’d gone parking, but if there was anything a farm-raised boy knew, it was how to do a girl in a truck.

In a few seconds he’d reclined the passenger seat part way and was sitting with her facing him, straddling his thighs. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

His hands found their way through that midnight wash of hair and gripped her head, holding it as his tongue thrust into her mouth.

She met it with hers, and what he’d intended to be a slow kiss quickly went fiery.

And his cock was three steps ahead. He groaned. Damn! He needed her, and he needed her right now.

She was lifting her skirt higher and he realized she’d taken off her panties. He stared, fascinated, at the shiny wisps of pubic hair, so few and so fine they accented rather than hid the pale skin below.

Man, that was the sexiest bush he’d ever seen.

He was reaching out to touch when her own fingers attacked the waistband of his pants, and then he couldn’t think of anything but getting out of his clothes and into Jenny. She slid down the zipper and he raised up off the seat so she could slide his pants and boxers down his legs.

His cock sprang free.

She paused and stared at it.

He’d never realized just how big it was. Now, beside tiny Jenny, his first thought was, man, she’d fit his cock as snug as a glove. A warm, wet, throbbing glove.

But what if he was too big for her?

No matter how horny he might be, he sure the hell wasn’t going to hurt a girl, getting his rocks off.

But then she purred, “Very, very nice,” and reached out one of those graceful hands.

“No!” He grabbed her hand. “You do that and it’ll all be over.”

“I’d have thought a firefighter would have better control over his…” she paused, ran her tongue around her lips and then finished, “hose.”

Normally he did. “Depends how strong the fire is.”

She was still staring at his cock, like she was fascinated by it. Or maybe scared?

He had to ask. “Are you, uh, going to be okay? I mean, you’re a small girl and…”

She looked up, her eyes smoldering. “I think we’re both going to be more than okay, big boy. You have a condom, or d’you want to use one of mine?”

Condom. Of course. He really wasn’t thinking tonight. “Wallet. Pants pocket.”

She fumbled for it, which had her squirming on his lap, which had him clenching his muscles again. Somehow, each time she squirmed, she ended up closer to his cock until finally her sweet pussy was pressed right against him, all hot and wet and swollen.

She stopped, condom package in hand, and moaned, “That feels so good.”

It sure as hell did.

He grabbed the package from her, ripped it open and started to sheath himself.

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“The hell you will.”

All the things he loved having women do, and he couldn’t let this girl—the hottest of them all—do any of them or he’d lose control like a thirteen-year-old.

With a shaking hand, he managed to get the condom on.

He should touch her, get her warmed up and ready, and his fingers longed to explore her seductive body, to tweak those pearled nipples, but he didn’t have that much self-control.

Besides, she was giving out signals that said she too was at the point just before flashover. When everything was so hot it was ready to ignite.

She lifted herself and used the fingers of one hand to spread herself open. Then she gripped him and brought his tip to her opening. And lowered herself slowly.

He fought to sit still, not daring to move for fear he would hurt her, as her sheath gripped him inch by inch. She was tight, deliciously tight, but wet, thank God, and she was taking him in.

All the way.

She rocked her hips, front and back, and moaned, “You feel so good.”

No, he felt fucking incredible. His cock had never had it so good, and it was making its demands known.

Now she was rocking in circles and—oh, crap, he couldn’t control this any longer.

He thrust up and Jenny gave a gasp, rocked harder against him, and she was moaning and he was gasping and their bodies were finding a frenzied rhythm of their own. No way could he last another minute but then she cried out, “Now, Scott, now!” and began to spasm around him.

And everything he’d felt all that long evening—the sexiness of the saxophone, the turn-on of the crowd’s approval, this girl’s lovely hands and silky hair, that pretty little pussy—it all poured through him and Scott was exploding. Coming harder and longer than ever before.

Coming like he wanted to reach her center and never find his way back again.

Afterward, they collapsed against each other, his arms around her, her body sagging against him. He had no idea how long they stayed like that but it sure felt good.

When he was finally capable of speech again, he said, “Jenny? Sorry, I kind of lost control. You okay?”

She lifted her head and her expression was dazed. “Yeah, I…wow.” Then her eyes narrowed. “But…” She swallowed. “I’m wet. Too wet.”

Was she bleeding? Damn, he had hurt her. Gently he lifted her, easing out of her and—“Oh, fuck! The condom burst!”

“Burst? What? Oh, no! Shit! Fuck, crap, double shit!”

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he would’ve laughed. Who’d have guessed a pink-and-pretty girl like her would have such a potty mouth?

But the situation was serious. “It wasn’t an old condom,” he said apologetically. “I don’t know what happened.” Except, he’d never come so hard in his life.

“I’m on the pill, so pregnancy’s not an issue.” She gnawed her lower lip. “But you’re a player, right? Lots of girls? Should I be worried?”

“I’m clean. I get tested regularly.”

“Guess that’s wise.” She gave a wry smile. “For a player.”

“Wise for a firefighter, too. We learn to be careful. We’re around blood, have to resuscitate people. I’m not going to take chances with my body.”

But accidents happened, like tonight. Should he be worried? Screwing a girl who’d have sex with a guy she’d just met? Cautiously he said, “Are you…?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Clean, too.”

No details. But she did carry condoms.

She was a pussycat with a bow around her neck, a Playboy bunny. They knew nothing about each other, just names and occupations.

Well, one more thing: when their bodies got together, they both ignited.

She found her backpack and pulled out a handful of tissues and wet wipes. Yeah, this was one together girl when it came to sex.

In silence they cleaned themselves up.

What a night. Weird, amazing—and scary, with that broken-condom thing.

The one thing he did know was not only did this woman turn him on, she fascinated him. He wanted to see her naked, explore every centimeter of that tiny body and see if everything was as perfect as what he’d seen so far.

Besides, he had his fair quota of male pride. He had to show her he could take it slow, make it fucking fantastic for her.

“Want to go back to my place?” he asked.

She was pulling on her panties—oh, man, a black thong. Without looking up, she shook her head. “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” What did that mean?

“I have somewhere I have to be.”

Oh, shit, was she married? Living with another guy? He’d never thought to ask.

He’d never thought, period. At least, not with his big head.

She glanced at him. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s a family thing.”

The way she said the words, even and kind of flat, told him questions weren’t welcome. “Okay. So, you got a car parked around here?”

“I didn’t drive, I knew I’d be drinking more than usual. I’ll catch a cab.”

In the middle of the night? Sure, it was Friday night—well, Saturday morning—and the clubby area of Granville Street would be busy and relatively safe, but no way could he let her do that. “I’ll drive you.”

“Thanks, but I’m happy cabbing.”

Maybe she didn’t want him to know where she lived? Nah, that didn’t make sense. She’d had sex with him; she had to trust him. People trusted firefighters.

Letting the taxi issue go for the moment, he said, “I’d like to get together again. What do you say, Jenny?”

She gazed at him for a long time, her expression unreadable.

What was with that? Usually women were panting to date a firefighter, show him off to their friends.

Finally she said, “I’ll think about it. It was fun, Scott, but I’m not sure if—” Then she snapped her fingers, gave a quick laugh. “Wait a minute, I have to see you again. I never got my interview.”

Interview? He could work with that. He’d have her panties off in no time, and this time he’d show her he knew what he was doing. “I’m working this weekend, but how about—” He was going to suggest they get together after his shift tomorrow, but she cut him off.

“At the fire hall?” She sounded excited. “That’d be perfect. I could get shots of you in uniform, talk to some of the other guys like that lieutenant.”

Oh, crap. Bulldog Spievak and the others would get off on telling embarrassing stories about the probie’s screwups, and there’d sure as hell be no opportunity to get in Jenny’s pants.

On the other hand, at least he’d see her again, and this time he’d be in control of his little head. He and Jenny could see how things went, decide if they wanted to hook up again.

See, he could be practical if he tried hard enough.

She still insisted on taking a taxi home, so he drove her around to Granville and waited until she’d climbed into a Blacktop cab before he headed home.

She’d said she would come to the fire hall Sunday afternoon.

When he saw her again, how the hell would he be able to keep his cock in his pants?

“Hurry up!” Jenny urged the cab driver. Damn, it was almost two o’clock. Even though she’d told her family she’d be out late on a story, this was pushing it.

Regretfully she stripped off the bow tie, then reached into her backpack and found the pink cotton blouse she’d been wearing when she left the house after dinner. It fit over her crop top, covering her pierced belly button.

Chances were, no one would be up this late to watch her walk in. But with her family, she couldn’t count on it.

She grimaced. Twenty-three years old, living at home and still under her parents’ thumbs. Not to mention her auntie’s and granny’s.

Yeah, sure, Scott. Let’s go back to my place and fuck like crazed weasels.

She grinned to herself.

Nope. Couldn’t take him home. But that hadn’t stopped her from making out like a weasel. Okay, so she wasn’t entirely under the collective family thumb. At least in the second—secret—life she lived. The tingly ache between her thighs was proof of it.

The taxi driver headed out Hastings Street to Chinatown, which was quiet at this time of night. He turned onto Keefer. It was lined with parked cars including her own black Jeep TJ.

“It’s the house over there.” She pointed to one in a row of two-stories that sat a little higher than the street, each with a flight of steps leading up to the yard. “You can double-park.”

She paid, got a receipt and then closed the cab door quietly and went up the steps. She tiptoed along the path that led to the front door. The house, attractive with its creamy yellow paint and maroon trim, sat waiting.

From old photos, she knew it had been in rough shape when her parents bought it twenty years ago. They’d renovated patiently, uncovering and honoring the house’s heritage beauty. It was cool how her family, so traditionally Chinese, had been able to appreciate the Western style of the house. Pity they couldn’t appreciate her own Western-ness.

Of course, inside the house they’d feng shui’ed it within an inch of its life.

Her family treated her and the house a lot alike. They didn’t mind if Jenny wore modern Western clothes so long as they were relatively modest. It was her brain and heart and soul they claimed for China.

The porch light was on, of course. Just to make sure she knew that they knew she hadn’t been home when everyone else went to bed.

Yeah, it sucked big time living at home with her folks, especially at times like this.

She slid her key into the lock, wincing as the bolt clicked over loud enough to wake the dead—or, at least, one of the older-generation females. Not her dad or younger sis; they’d sleep through anything.

The good news was, her room was downstairs so she didn’t have to climb the flight of creaky wooden steps. Originally the room had been a study, and all the bedrooms were upstairs. When her big brother Anthony had hit adolescence, he’d coveted the downstairs study for its size and relative privacy, and—spoiled little prince that he’d been—taken it over.

When he moved out to marry Linda, Jenny had been starting her journalism career. Independent and ambitious, she hadn’t wanted a bottom-of-the-heap job writing obits. She was going to freelance and build her career at her own pace. Her family approved—so long as she lived at home and worked from there. And so she’d inherited Anthony’s room.

She closed the door to her combined office/bedroom and flicked on a light. The room’s soft rose walls gave it a warm glow. She had a fondness for rattan and flowered fabric, so the room had a light, feminine feel.

Even the filing cabinet was ivory. She unlocked it, remembering how she’d told her family she had to keep her files confidential. Yes, she did keep notes here, but the cabinet also stored the essentials of life. Like her Pearl Butterfly vibrator, birth-control pills and the latest style in condoms from Rubber Rainbow on Denman. Also, the clothes and accessories her folks wouldn’t approve of, and all the other goodies she required for life outside Chinatown.

This secret-life thing could be a real pain in the butt. If only her folks weren’t so hopelessly old-fashioned and Chinese!

Into the cabinet went a couple of condoms and her crop top, to be washed when she could do it in privacy. She turned the key in the lock, then slipped into her pink-and-white striped sleep shirt and went down the hall to wash up. No shower tonight. The rumbling pipes would for sure wake the household.

Despite the tissues she’d used in Scott’s truck, she was sticky between her legs.

She soaked a washcloth in hot water, then paused.

Unprotected sex. She didn’t do unprotected sex.

Scott had reassured her he was clean, but she didn’t know this guy. Should she be worried?

First, did she think he was honest? Her gut instinct was excellent, and it told her yes.

Then, was he bright enough to know what was what when it came to risks and protection? Firefighting was a blue-collar job, so he probably wasn’t any intellectual bright light, but he’d had EMT training. Yeah, he’d know what was up with bodily fluids.

Feeling reassured, she began to wash between her legs. Gingerly.

Man, he was big! Bigger even than her Pearl Butterfly. She’d never been with a guy who had such a big dick. Was that why the orgasm had been so powerful?

Crap. Had he ruined her for smaller guys?

Size wasn’t supposed to count; it was what the guy did with the equipment. And, to be honest, Scott hadn’t done much of anything except get hard and ejaculate.

Not fair. He’d gone way above and beyond the call of duty, making sure she got that first orgasm.

Still, on the scale of good lovers, he wasn’t anywhere near a ten. Did he even know foreplay had been invented?

So why had she responded so wildly? Why did her pussy swell and ache even now as she touched herself with the washcloth and thought of him?

“Jen-ny?” The soft call was followed by a gentle tap on the bathroom door.

Damn, damn, damn. There was absolutely no privacy in this stupid house.

“Yes, Auntie, it’s me.” Fang Yin, in her mid seventies, was her great-aunt. Granny’s younger sister, and a widow, too. Jenny tossed the washcloth into the sink and went to open the door.

Her aunt, tiny body bundled up in her maroon bathrobe, looked concerned. “You all right, Jenny? Is late night. Everything okay? You hungry?”

Jenny, hoping she didn’t still smell of sex, gave her a quick hug. “Everything’s great, and I’m not hungry, thanks. I needed to stay late to get an interview.” Thank God she wasn’t much of a blusher.

“What this story? Is one of your hus-hus ones?” Although she spoke English, Auntie, like her sister, had never become 100 percent fluent.

“Yes, Auntie, it’s hush-hush.” Journalism was a perfect career. Jenny could always play the “confidential” card when her family got too nosy.

“We see this story in the paper soon?”

They would, if they picked up the Straight. But they wouldn’t know the article was Jenny’s. She wrote under two pseudonyms, with her real name going only on the stories she didn’t mind her family reading.

“I hope so,” she said. “I still have more interviews. We’ll see how it comes out.”

“Your job such a big mystery,” her aunt said, widening her eyes. “So exciting.”

It sure had been tonight! “Sometimes. And sometimes it’s a lot of boring research.”

“Ah, well, a job is hard work, or is not a job.”

Her aunt would know. Not only did she and Granny run the household, they also managed the apartment building her family owned. Jenny’s parents were busy with their travel agency, which had expanded in the years since Anthony had joined them. Yeah, the Yuens were typical Chinese: hardworking and seriously into owning property and running their own businesses.

“You go to bed now,” Auntie Fang Yin said. “Young girl like you needs sleep. Dream good dreams, Jenny.”

She hugged her aunt again. “Thanks, I’m sure I will.”

If she dreamed of Scott, they’d be scorchers.

Saturday morning, after grocery shopping and other family duties, Jenny finally got the place to herself. Cat, her fourteen-year-old sister, was at Chinese school and the rest of the family was away working, shopping, socializing.

Jenny took a couple of homemade egg rolls out of the freezer. She stuck them into the toaster oven for a few minutes, then took her lunch into her home office and booted up her computer. All set to type up notes from last night, she thought the penis-shaped egg rolls made a fine accompaniment.

Her in-box held e-mail from all three of her Awesome Foursome friends.

Ann said, I worried about leaving you at the club alone. Hope you got your interviews and made it home safely. Let me know.

That Ann. So responsible, such a worrier. Hard to believe she was only twenty-eight. She was so stressed she was going to need Botox before she was thirty.

Jenny typed back, Home safe but LATE! As for the interview…well, let’s just say I got some really good stuff—and it was big and hard and attached to Mr. February! Tell you about it Monday.

She clicked SEND, giggling at the thought of Ann putting down her law books to check e-mail. This message would shake her out of her lawyerly rut. Give her something to wonder about until the girls got together for their regular Monday night dinner and gabfest.

Suzanne’s e-mail said, Wow, Jenny, what an evening! I was so horny when I got home, I had to call Jaxon. He’s crazy busy this weekend, getting set up at his friend’s firm and moving into his new apartment in Berkeley, but I figured he wouldn’t mind a little late-night phone sex. And you know what? He didn’t! <g>

Jenny was really happy for Suze—and proud that she’d been instrumental in hooking up her friend with a hot boyfriend—but it sure felt good to know that she’d have stories of her own to tell on Monday.

Jenny answered, I guess phone sex is okay—if you can’t get THE REAL THING! Let me give you a clue, his name starts with Mr. F…. <G>

Rina’s message read, I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not, but there’s this man, the uncle of one of my piano students, who’s asked me out a couple of times. I’ve never believed in dating a student’s relative, but last night got me so hot and bothered, I know I need to find a man! So I phoned him and we’re going out tonight.

Not that I’d have sex with him on a first date or anything.

Hey, good for Rina. She liked men and sex, but tended to be shy. It was that stupid body-image problem of hers. Good God, the woman was lush. She ought to be showing off her curves, not trying to lose them.

Jenny wrote back, No, of course you wouldn’t. <g> No more than I would—oops, guess I did! Last night!! And without even the date first!!!

Okay, enough fun teasing the girls. Time to get to work. Such a tough job, reliving the memories from last night.

But it was harder than she’d thought, as it turned out. The G-rated memories were fine to let out via the keyboard, but the X-rated ones had her wet and wanting. And alone, damnit. By the time she’d finished the article, she was squirming in her chair and had to unlock the filing cabinet for an emergency session with her vibrator.

A while later, when Jenny could concentrate on work again, she started typing up interview questions for tomorrow at the fire hall.

That was going to be weird, seeing Scott there.

When he’d said he’d like to get together again, she hadn’t known how to respond. The guys she usually went out with—whether they were Chinese arranged dates or the secret lovers she chose for herself—tended to be intellectual types. What on earth would she and Scott talk about?

Down-and-dirty sex was fabulous, but there had to be more than that. Didn’t there?

On the other hand, when she’d had sex with brainy guys, the sex had fit into the okay-but-not-great category. Her trusty Pearl Butterfly could do a better job than most of the boys she’d dated.

As she finished typing up her questions, one unwritten one hung persistently in her mind. When she saw Scott again, in the light of day, would he still set her on fire?

He couldn’t really be that hot. Could he?