Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration Page 7

  Her body ricocheted against nothing but the sound of his voice. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Unbutton it.”

  The breath shot out of her in a long, hot rush. She lifted her fingers to the top little button of her sweater and flipped it open, then exhaled raggedly, breathless from the effort.

  “All of them.”

  “Johnny,” she whispered. “We’re in a bar. I…I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Someone might s-see us. Hear us,” she whispered. For some reason, her body shivered.

  His eyes met hers, then he said slowly, perhaps significantly, “Oh.”

  She made a helpless sound which only seemed to inflame him. She saw his erection, hard, thick, pressing against the seam of those faded jeans.

  She unbuttoned her shirt for him.

  His gaze dropped as her fingers slid slowly down the sweater, undoing it button by button. It gaped open, then parted fully, her skin so pale it almost gleamed in contrast to her bright red bra. He took a low, sharp breath.

  “Take down your hair.”

  She tugged at the tight hair band, slid it down the length of her ponytail, then off. Her hair fell thickly down her back.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said in a low, harsh voice.

  His words scorched her hopelessness, burned her. She lifted her chin, arched her back. Her body wanted to get closer to his words. His eyes got dark and fierce.

  “Do that again.”

  She felt more powerful than she had in…ever. She arched a little more, chin up, then reached around and scooped up a heavy length of hair over her shoulder, so it spilled down the front of her body, over her breasts. For him.

  His gaze raked up her body and she felt alive. Getting a life.

  “Unbutton your jeans.”

  Her fingers touched the cool metal and she felt burned. Desire had burned through to her fingertips; her whole body was pulsing, fired up. She flipped the button open and folded the sides down and away. The tops of her red-red panties, lacey and sheer, almost glowed in the darkness between them. She flushed as he looked at them.

  “I like those,” he said in a low voice.

  “I’m glad,” she whispered, half laughing.

  “I’m going to rip them off.”

  She was hyperventilating. “I hope so.”

  He held out a hand. “Come here.”

  She took the two steps required to draw up in front of him. Excitement shivered through her.

  He stretched out a hand and skimmed his knuckles down her exposed belly.

  A broken gasp escaped her. “Johnny,” she whispered. She had no idea why she was saying his name, except that it felt like breathing right now.

  He skimmed up this time, slow and hot, and brushed his knuckles over her nipple. Her body jerked, as if he’d stroked her with a whip.

  He pushed to the edge of his chair and closed his hands around her hips, pulling her forward to stand between his knees. He held her there and tilted his face up, laid his hot mouth over her breast, right through the lacy red material, and flicked his tongue, hard and fast.

  Her head dropped, her back arched. His hands tightened around her waist as she leaned over him, holding her up on unsteady legs. She braced a palm on the back of his chair and leaned over him further, to give him more access, but he tore his mouth away and curled a hand around the nape of her neck, pulled her down so she was bent forward, her hands on the back of the chair, their mouths close together.

  Our heavy, rasping breaths filled the dark room. She shook, holding steady, waiting for him to move on her, to assault her, to invade her with his kiss. Her body hummed with wanting it.

  Then he did. And blew her mind. Because this kiss was not an assault. It was…wings.

  Butterfly wings, his lips, dancing across hers. So soft, so gentle, so different from all the hard, determined things she’d thought she knew about Johnny, that the breath caught in her throat.

  She didn’t know anything about Johnny, not even for an instant.

  Her whole body trembled as he kissed her slow and sweet, licking her mouth, tasting her tongue, breathing on her, so she became a specimen of sensuality, a work of his art. She opened her mouth, their tongues tangling slowly, heatedly, then Juliette couldn’t wait anymore, and pushed her tongue forward, into his mouth.

  He made a dark, masculine sound and the hand on her hips skidded up. He brushed the back of one hand over her breast, igniting an explosion of chills. He brushed again and pinched a nipple between his knuckles as he went by, so that she cried out down into his mouth. But it was all a slow, languid thing, like lava on the move, slow and scorching hot.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, a knee up on the seat, and leaned over him, pushing him backward in the chair.

  He cupped the back of her other knee and pulled her up into the chair, pushed her down on his lap, and she went, straddling him. The kiss turned hard and possessive, demanding things of her, his hard body under her, his hands on her hips, making her move, his tongue deep in her mouth, the kiss of Johnny Danger.

  Desire encompassed her; she became nothing but wanting. She nipped at his lower lip, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Their hips rocked together as she tugged on his shirt. He lifted his arms for her to slide it off, revealing a wide chest, curving biceps, hard muscle, then he helped her tear it over his head. She flung it somewhere into the darkness behind him.

  Then she touched him as she’d been wanting to do, raked her fingernails through the hair on his chest, making him hiss, slid her hands down the hard curve of his biceps, nipped his lower lip, pushed her chest up against his, greedy to keep touching new parts of his hard body.

  His hands were equally busy, splayed across her back, molding around her ribs.

  “Take it off,” he murmured, tugging at her bra. She fumbled with the front snap, but her fingers were trembling so hard she couldn’t get it. He skimmed his hand up and flipped it open with a shocking snap against her skin. Her breasts spilled out. The bra dangled, crimson red, beside them.

  Her entire body tightened with desire as he cupped her breasts and, eyes on hers, brushed his thumbs across her nipples.

  Fire. Her body was made of fire.

  Her head dropped down, until she was panting beside his neck. Her knees shook.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said again in a flat, unemotional voice. Then he sucked her breast into his hot mouth and turned her inside out with his slow heat.

  His mouth was a miracle, his tongue a sensuous, pushing pressure, hot and insistent. Then he pulled away and blew on her nipples, first one, then the other, until they felt as hard as diamonds, piercing, glittering hard. He closed his teeth around one with a brushing bite, fast, skimming the edge of danger.

  She cried out, a sharp, gasping sound. It sped through the empty room, filling the dark corners with their passion. Her back arched, her bottom went up. His hands slid to cup her, and he pulled her forward again, rocking his hips up to hers in a hard slam.

  The pressure hit where she was throbbing, and she dropped her head into his neck with a gasp.

  He did it again.

  She was making lots of sounds now, hard, fast, gasping sounds, their tongues tangled and hot and slippery. Her legs trembled from holding herself up in the chair, her knees sliding out under the arms, adding to the excited, hard-threaded lust firing through her. She felt strung up by electricity.

  Panting, she reached down and fumbled for the button of his jeans. She flipped them open and began pulling down the zipper.

  He put his hand on her belly, stopping her, pushing her backward off his lap and for a second she got scared—of what she didn’t know—but the moment she was up, his hand fisted around the waistband of her jeans and he yanked them down, never breaking their kiss.

  She kicked them off clumsily, boots all tangled up, and started to climb back onto his lap.

  He put his hand on her, stopping her again, but the fierce, anima
l look he gave her quieted any fear that this was going to end too soon.

  “Babe, I gotta get a condom,” he said tightly as he slid to his feet.

  She waited as he flung things out of his bag, then straightened, packet in hand. She wasn’t even bothered that he carried condoms around with him on work assignments; she was mostly eternally grateful.

  Dimly, faintly, in the way-back of her awareness, she thought she heard a phone ringing. Johnny’s phone. Work calling.

  Johnny didn’t pause. She didn’t even know if he heard it. She sure wasn’t going to inform him.

  Then, straightening, packet between his teeth, he shoved a flattened hand down the front of his unbuttoned jeans and unzipped slowly. Her breathing slowed to stopping as curling dark hair appeared, then his erection, hard and long and thick, came free, curving up to his flat stomach.

  “You go commando,” she whispered happily. Of course he did. She grinned at him, no idea why something like this should make her so happy.

  “You like?” He shoved his jeans down a little way, revealing trim, toned buttocks. “You should try it sometime. When I’m around.”

  She shivered. “Maybe I will.”

  Like the expert he probably was, he put the condom on. He curled his thick fingers around his hard, curving cock, and unrolled it down the length.

  Her breath turned to panting. Just like he’d said it would.

  Head still down, he glanced over and saw her watching, her mouth open slightly. He gave a crooked smile. Then his gaze dropped. She followed it. He stared at her red underwear.

  “You left them on,” he said in a low voice.

  “I didn’t mean to. I was in a hurry.”

  His green eyes, dark with desire, slid up. “You going to take them off?”

  She flushed. “I thought you were going to rip them off.”

  He grabbed a sweatshirt out of his bag, flung it onto the seat, then sat down on it, pulling her into his lap as he went. “Come here, baby,” he whispered. “Sit on me.”

  She straddled him again. His hands went immediately to her underwear.

  “We’ll get you more,” he promised, then he ripped them just like he’d said he would, used both hands to tear them in two, then pushed the halves aside.

  She lowered her head, released a hot pant into his neck as she held herself up on trembling knees, waiting for him.

  He reached up and cupped her face, put his mouth by her ear and whispered, “Don’t forget to bang your head.”

  She laughed and he slid two fingers down between their bodies, through her wetness, a fast, shocking swipe, right over her clit.

  The sensation, so direct, so confident, his hot skin on her sensitive flesh, ripped a moan from her body and she came, right then, with his fingers barely on her, his mouth by her ear, she came hard and fast, a clench of pleasure, her head flung back, the breath locked in her chest.

  “Just like that,” he whispered in her ear, then said, “Watch.”

  She looked down and watched his overturned hand stroke her clit with his fingertips, fluttering, slippery strokes. She panted into the hot space between their bodies, staring at him touching her, feeling him touching her. He fisted his other hand around the base of his erection and pushed it forward, against her abs, a hard slap.

  “Fuck,” she whimpered, a ragged, broken thing. She never cursed. He was destroying her.

  His eyes were dark with desire, burning through the room. “Touch me.”

  She could barely breathe as she reached down and brushed her palm down the curving length of him.

  “Put me inside you.” His voice was a little hoarse.

  She arched her back instead, pushing her breasts out so they brushed his face. He turned his head to chase them with his mouth, but she cupped his cock in her hand and pressed it to her abdomen and rocked against him a few times, holding him there. He immediately pushed his hips up, into the rhythm.

  “You want me to come right here?” he asked, his voice hard and definitely hoarse now.

  She shook her head, dizzy with the power she seemed to have.

  “Then sit down on me,” he said, his voice rasping. “I want to fuck you.”

  Hard pleasure ripped through her. She lifted herself up on her knees and he held his erection upright while she slowly lowered herself onto him. The velvet-smooth, hard, sheathed tip of him slowly penetrated her, thick and round, almost burning. She caught her breath with a gasp and froze.

  He released his cock and gripped her waist with both hands, holding her but not guiding. Still, she could feel the roiling tension of him, the harsh, male demand to shove his hips up and take her hard. But he didn’t move a muscle.

  She lowered herself an inch more, then another slow half inch. She closed her eyes and kept going, the back of a hand over her mouth and slowly went down on him, her body stretching to open for the hard thick heat of him.

  He didn’t move until she was more or less settled, most of her weight still on her knees, not him. She opened her eyes.

  “Okay?” he asked softly.

  Why did her eyes feel hot?

  She nodded, said a bit brokenly, “Yes.”

  He was quiet. “This isn’t your first time, is it?” To his credit, he didn’t sound horrified.

  She shook her head, fast, not looking at him. “No. Just…not a lot.”

  He muttered “Fuck,” and cupped her face to kiss her, while he slid his other hand down between their legs, to slowly, gently, perfectly, brush against her clit. It made her moan a little. He did it again, long, slow strokes. She pumped her hips experimentally and his cock pushed in deeper. Their eyes met and she let her knees slide out a little further, so he went in a little deeper. Slowly she rocked on him, testing each inch, letting him in more, until slowly the burn and stretch turned into a beautiful, hot, full pressure.

  She blew out a long breath.

  “Yeah?” His voice was low.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s go,” he said, and lifted his hips to hers, slow but hard, and something deep inside her got strummed.

  She stared into his eyes and whispered, “Oh.”

  He smiled.

  Slowly they rocked like that, her hands on his shoulders. Stroke by stroke, their pace picked up. They were silent, staring at each other, breathing hard. He leaned his head back on the cushioned chair and watched her move. She loved that. She arched over him, the long dark curtain of her hair all around them.

  She felt wild, in the darkness of the empty hall, her almost naked, him almost fully clothed, the zipper of his jeans scraping the back of her thighs with each pump. Johnny set the pace now, a hard, fast, unforgiving, wonderful pace, his hips lifting her off the chair. She felt like she was riding a wave. Harsh, guttural, slapping sounds of their sex echoed through the room of shadow and light. Her body rocked, her hair and breasts swung, the breath shoved out of her with every surge. Everything was so primal, the masculine lines of Johnny’s face, his fierce eyes on hers, his hard hands, pushing her harder, holding her into it. She felt like a goddess, something ancient and of the earth, alive and knowing old things.

  “Fuck,” he rasped. Their eyes locked. “I’m sorry, babe, this first one’s going to be quick.”

  She slung both forearms over the back of the chair and leaned over him, their mouths inches apart beneath her swinging hair.

  “You look good, Johnny,” she whispered, and bit his lower lip.

  His head jerked back, his eyes shut, and he came, his hips pistoning, bouncing her recklessly. Even through the condom, she felt the hot surging power of him, and was just within the realm of sanity enough so she didn’t tear the condom off and sit down on him again, to feel his release spilling through her.

  She decided she could do this all night long. She’d found her new hobby: to make Johnny come, over and over, deep inside her, surging with power, and she’d be satisfied.

  That’s what she thought. But Johnny soon showed her that was not enough, not even cl
ose.

  She’d thought after an orgasm, he would need a minute to regroup, maybe inhale or something, but it seemed to have energized him. His eyes opened, he pulled her face down to his and said, “You look good too, Juliette.”

  Then he kissed her and as he did, he sat upright, held her bottom and lower back, and shoved to his feet, taking her with him, right up out of the chair.

  He was still hard inside her, kissing her, and she pushed up against him and took that kiss. He had such a nice body. She reveled how it felt under her hands and only slowly became aware that he’d backed her up to the wall, his body another wall in front of her.

  Then his still-hard erection slid out of her as he set her down. He cupped himself and reached down to his bag, she presumed to handle the whole condom thing, but she was too dizzy with desire to really notice much about details anymore. And her, being such a detail girl.

  Soon enough he straightened again and looked her over with a long, slow, fierce look. Then with a gentle pressure, he pushed her shoulders back to the wall.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  She’d forgotten she even had it on. The light sweater still hung off her shoulders, unbuttoned, gaping open. She slid it down her arms and he took it and flung it behind him; it probably landed somewhere near where she’d flung his.

  The bra dangled just as uselessly off her shoulders, and he took that next, until she stood there in all her naked glory, back to the wall, hyperventilating.

  He slid his gaze down her, taking his time as he looked her over, totally unselfconscious. Of course, he wasn’t the naked one. There was something wildly arousing about that. She inhaled in short, gasping breaths. She felt effervescent, tingling and bright. He finished his perusal and looked into her eyes.

  “Fucking beautiful.”

  Her head fell back against the wall and she closed her eyes, threw a forearm over her face, as if the sun were too bright. She reached out with her other hand, wanting to pull him toward her, but he was already there. He kissed her cheeks, her mouth, her chin, then went down, her throat, her breasts, down and down, until he was on his knees in front of her.

  He leaned forward and flicked his tongue against her pussy.