Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration Page 8

  A short, broken gasp escaped her.

  He spread her with his thumbs, slippery and hot, and licked her from the bottom of her pussy to the top, then back down again, long, sensuous, deep strokes. She touched his head lightly and started to move to the rhythm, bumping her bottom against the wall, pushing out again for the next sweep of his wicked tongue. He laid a forearm against her inner thigh and made her spread her legs further, then knelt in between them and turned his face up. He brushed her clit with his thumb and slid two fingers up inside her, hard and fast.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, God.”

  He did it again. She shook. His mouth became the center of her universe, his fingers and hands and mouth and tongue and teeth, Good God, his teeth, grazing her clit with dangerous abandon, almost biting, but not, scrape, lick, press, then he sucked her clit right into his mouth and curled the fingers he had inside her in a strong, pressured push.

  She banged her head against the wall and moaned.

  Urgent, hot waves of desire pounded through her. She wanted more, moremoremore. The power of it frightened her, excited her, pulled at her like a wave, yanking her off the moorings of sense and reason and all the nice clean lines of her life.

  She felt like she could do anything. Would do anything. It was terrifying and exhilarating, to be so free, to know the truth: she could do anything.

  Anything Johnny wanted. Anything she wanted.

  She felt unfurled. She was a new nation. She reached down, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his face into her pussy, ground her wetness all across his face. He made a dark, masculine sound of approval, shoved his free hand between her thighs to cup her bottom and pull her forward, harder and faster, making her move over his face, his fingers deep inside her.

  She might have screamed. Hard waves of pleasure started pulsing through her body.

  His green eyes watched her, looking up the rocking, shuddering length of her, his mouth wet from her.

  “Come for me,” he urged thickly. “Come in my mouth, baby.”

  Her body exploded in waves of hot, undulant, shuddering pleasure. She was an ocean of coming. Her body bucked between the wall and Johnny, her hair swung, her legs shook. Johnny straightened and yanked down his jeans a little further, unraveling to stand in front of her, magnificent and hard, like a statue, his eyes fixed on her.

  “Good God, Johnny,” she whispered raggedly.

  She was so ready for more.

  Good thing. Because he turned her around, pressed her naked body up against the bank of windows that overlooked the ski slopes, then stood behind her and whispered in her ear, “Now let’s really make you come.”

  And Juliette, shaking and naked, palms to the cold window, reveling in it.

  How had he known? She hadn’t even known what her body wanted, and she’d been living inside it for thirty-one years.

  Wizard.

  Chapter Nine

  JOHNNY WAS STRETCHED to the breaking point.

  He hadn’t expected any of this, not the passion, not the intensity. He hadn’t expected Juliette. Hadn’t expected her to be what she was. To burn so hot. To affect him so much.

  Johnny rarely got blindsided. Although for the moment, being blindsided, a generally dangerous position, wasn’t bothering him, because he’d never been so pumped up before either. Never wanted a woman so bad, never felt this kind of fired-up desire surging through him.

  Juliette stood in front of the windows, her back to him, looking over her shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses, her black hair falling down across her passion-flushed body. She was a fucking goddess. And she hid it. Every day, under her clothes and her attitudes and her deadlines, under her stress and her furrowed brow and her fear. Tonight, though, she’d agreed to push her limits, and Johnny was going to push them hard. Blow them apart, see what fires were kindled below.

  He stepped behind her, until the front of his thighs touched the back of her legs and rounded bottom.

  “Put your hands on the glass,” he said in a low voice.

  She made a broken sound. “Johnny.”

  “Do it.”

  She did it.

  “Lean your hips back.”

  He shifted and nudged his erection into the hot space between her inner thighs. They were so wet and slick, it was like being sheathed inside her. He nudged in and out a few times, then shifted higher and made sure his next push slid into the swollen slit he’d just licked to an orgasm. He bumped the rounded head of his dick against her clit.

  She stamped her foot and arched her back.

  His balls tightened, fire surged inside him. His blood was pounding, his head barely clear. He pulled back, gripped himself, and shoved inside her with a single, unstoppable thrust.

  He let his head fall back with a guttural cry.

  So did she, her hands splayed on the window.

  Placing his hands firmly on her hips, he guided her backwards as he moved forward again. They met in a slow, rocking thrust.

  Her head dropped down between her outstretched arms. He shifted on his feet, gripped her hips, and sank into her again.

  This time her head jerked back, her red lips rounded around a hot, broken moan. Dark hair spilled across her pale, arched back and her face. Unable to resist, he reached forward and slid two fingers into her open mouth. As if she was greedy to be filled, she began sucking, turning her head to the side, her teeth grazing his knuckles sharply. She kept sucking, her lips curled around his fingers, as he penetrated her deeper, with his fingers and his cock, deep into the wet, tight heat of her.

  Stifling a curse, he slid his fingers out of her mouth and picked up the rhythm, holding onto her waist. She bounced with every thrust, her hair flying, fast little gasps and low moans sliding helplessly from her body. She bent her arms, pressed her elbows to the window, stretched her forearms up the length of it. He gritted his teeth and rocked into her slower, watching his dick sink deep into her tightness, the dark curling hair around his cock scraping against her pale bottom, his balls slapping against her flesh.

  She threw her head back and moaned with each deeper penetration, her curving hips locked beneath his hands. He bent his knees, lowering himself slightly, and placed a palm between her shoulders, pushed her down a little.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she whispered brokenly. He surged into her again. She stamped her foot, shoved her ass up higher for him, and stretched her forearms farther up the window. “Oh, God Johnny, please,” she whispered raggedly. “Oh, please.”

  He bent over her back and whispered in her ear, “Touch yourself.”

  She gave a gasping cry and pulled a hand off the window, pushed it between her legs, and started fingering herself. He knew, because he could hear her gasps get sharper. He knew because he could see the faint, transparent reflection in the window, of her slim finger pushing into her cunt. He shifted, put his foot against the inside of hers, and made her spread her legs further. She did it for him, rolling her forehead against the window, her body moving in a tell-tale rhythm, her breath coming in short, breathy gasps.

  That was the end of playtime. Johnny repositioned himself on his feet, put a palm on her lower back and stood up straight. He looked over to watch them in the high, tilted mirror behind the bar. She was getting close; her cries were getting more ripping and random, her body tensing in jerks, just shy of orgasm, whispering, “Oh God, oh yes, oh please, Johnny.”

  “Someone might see us, Juliette,” he whispered.

  She gave a broken whimper.

  “Yeah, I hear someone.”

  “Oh no,” she moaned, but her hips pushed back for him faster, and her fingers stayed between her legs, sliding through the slickness, matching the rhythm of each penetration.

  He gripped her hips and plunged hard, again and again. “Yeah, he’s watching you now, babe,” he rasped. “He can see you. He likes it. He’s jerking off.”

  She came in an explosion of whimpers and cries and head-flinging shudder
s. Her forearm was flattened against the window, her hand fisted as she cried out Johnny’s name, her body clenching and releasing around him, and he came too, hard and powerfully, an explosion of him getting into Juliette.

  Moments later, when he felt her knees start to buckle, he curled an arm around her waist and took her body as it crumpled backward.

  He backed them up, to collapse into the chair, Juliette on his lap, his blood coursing, his body pulsing, his mind empty of all thought and any awareness except that he was holding Juliette. He hadn’t yet got to the thoughts of, ‘Now, what the fuck?’

  They would come, though. They always did.

  ‘Now, what the fuck?’ was practically Johnny’s mantra.

  Chapter Ten

  JULIETTE WAS PREPARED to feel crushing guilt.

  She sat on Johnny’s lap, his arms around her, and decided she’d just have to roll with it. No use fighting it; guilt always came, and it always won.

  The things Johnny had done. The things she’d let him do. The things she’d done. The things she’d wanted him to do. She would melt the confessional. If she still went to such places. Something riotous and improper and uncontrollable had been unleashed tonight, and her body still pulsed with of it.

  More please, the errant thought jostled its way to the front of her mind.

  She went still in surprise. That was a new one.

  It was worth it.

  Well. That sure wasn’t guilt talking.

  “Oh brother,” she murmured.

  Johnny’s hand was stroking the side of her head absently. At her words, he stilled, then said in a fittingly raspy, post-sex voice, “Oh brother, what?”

  “Just…oh brother.”

  He was quiet a moment, then he tipped her face up and searched her eyes. “Did you have a good time?”

  Heat raced to her cheeks but she said politely, as she’d been trained, “I had a very good time.”

  He laughed and pressed a swift kiss on her mouth. “I guessed,” he said, then added in gentle command, “Up.”

  She struggled to her feet. He rose behind her and reached for his jacket, then laid it with surprising care around her shoulders. She slid it a bit further forward, and a bit further down, and used it to shield the front of her body. Surely having to cover herself with the wooly green pea coat of a man she barely knew, while standing naked in a deserted banquet hall, would open the floodgates to guilt. Regret too.

  So far, though, nothing.

  Johnny prowled the room, picking up their discarded clothes. He scooped up the shredded red remains of the underwear they’d agreed to destroy and shove them into the front pocket of his jeans. She appreciated the chivalric gesture, even though it didn’t help one iota right now.

  Well, maybe one iota.

  He came back and handed over all the items that were hers. They were mostly hers. Without a word she took them and turned away and got dressed in silence. Was there anything more awkward than this moment?

  And…where was the guilt?

  Her body was still sending out little tremors of pleasure, remnant tremors, like it didn’t want her to forget what had happened. Her skin felt scorched. Her cheeks and inner thighs were scraped and raw from Johnny’s beard. All in all she felt…really good.

  Just like he had said it would be.

  Where was the guilt?

  She buttoned and zippered herself back into some semblance of order, then turned to find Johnny with his back gallantly to her, packing up their cups and coffees and all the Billings’ paperwork—oh right, work, she thought dimly—into neat piles. His and Hers. His hair was mussed, his face far less hard than it had been a few hours ago.

  How long had they been at it?

  “Did someone really see us?” she asked softly.

  He looked over his shoulder, shook his head. His green eyes were a lot less cold than she remembered. “I don’t have any idea. I was pretty focused on you.”

  She took a step forward. “Do you think anyone did?”

  “No.” He straightened and turned. “No one did. Your secret is safe with me.”

  A little shiver went though her. “Which secret?”

  He reached for her. “That you’re a fire looking for a spark.”

  She let him pull her to his chest, shocked by the hot flow of emotion that went through her as she rested her cheek against his chest. She had no idea what she was feeling, except that it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, guilt.

  She stood in Johnny’s embrace for another moment, then, being a realist at heart, she took a step back, and another, because that’s where this was inevitably going anyhow. The stepping back, the confusing compliments that meant nothing. It was over. It should be over. Thank God it was over.

  She blew out an uneven breath. “So, what now?” she said, pleased at how calm and reasonable she sounded, how so very ‘none of this matters to me’ she appeared.

  He considered her a long second. Too long.

  She moved for the table. “So, well, this has been great, Johnny—”

  “Juliette.”

  “—and I had a great time and all—” She grabbed her coffee mug.

  “Juliette.”

  She shoved it into her bag. “But it’s getting late, and I guess we took care of everything,” her face flushed, “so—”

  “Juliette.”

  His voice kept getting lower, so that she had to stop moving if she wanted to hear him, and she very much wanted to hear him. Also, he’d put a hand on her wrist, and that stopped her short. He could probably feel her trembling. She stared down at his hand. She felt so out of control. So uncontrollable.

  He put his fingertips on her chin and made her look up. Their eyes met.

  He considered her a second, then grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and handed it to her. “You’re coming with me.”

  She ignored the coat. “What? Where?”

  When it became apparent she wasn’t going to take the coat, Johnny laid it over her shoulder and turned to heave her monstrous bag up off the floor next.

  “Holy shit, this is heavy,” he muttered, hoisting it onto his shoulder. Then he reached down for his own bag.

  “Johnny, come with you, where?”

  “My place.” He wrestled his bag over his other shoulder.

  “You have a ‘place’?”

  “I have a place.”

  “But…why?”

  “Because I like Destiny Falls. Actually, the whole Tahoe area,” he added thoughtfully.

  “No, I mean, why go there?”

  He paused in grabbing his phone off the table. “Because I’m not done fucking your brains out yet?” He looked over and added slowly, “Are you done fucking mine?”

  A question guaranteed to rattle her fucked-out brains. She shook her head to clear it, trying to stay focused. “No, I mean why now? Why didn’t you suggest this ‘place’ of yours back…before we…. Why didn’t you suggest it a few minutes ago?”

  He dropped his sleek phone into his pocket. “Because it seemed like a waste of time.”

  Oh.

  He leaned forward to plant a kiss on her mouth. “Also, my windows don’t have as many people milling around beneath them,” he murmured. “You seemed to like that part.”

  She dropped her head. “Oh, God,” she muttered to her feet. She couldn’t have prepared a better invitation for guilt. Johnny had practically engraved it.

  And yet…no guilt. No regret.

  All she felt was her faintly-shuddering body and her weak knees and the shivery, wide-open feeling that came when she looked up and saw Johnny was holding out his hand to her.

  “Want to come?” he asked.

  As she stared at his overturned hand, to her surprise, her stomach, suddenly and very deliberately, growled.

  They both looked down at it. Her stomach never growled. With a start, she realized she was suddenly, ravenously hungry.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly hungry. Or hungry at a
ll, really. She was more ‘coffee’ than ‘hungry.’ But now, she was suddenly, spontaneously, dying of hunger.

  She suspected there was a deeper metaphor here. She did not want to examine it. Not right now. Lurking beneath a metaphor might be guilt.

  She really didn’t want to feel guilty right now. Or scared. Or worried or tense or alone. She liked feeling…hungry.

  And not alone.

  Johnny was standing a few feet away, his hand still hovering in the air between them.

  “You coming?” he said again, his gaze level. He probably knew very well what was going through her mind. Maybe not the hunger, but everything else. Or, well, maybe the hunger too. Her stomach growled again.

  “I’m coming,” she said quietly, and laid her hand in his.

  His hand was solid and hard. He curled his fingers around hers. She curled back.

  “But…”

  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “A but. There’s always a but.”

  “Can we stop and get some food on the way?”

  His head tracked back down. “Yeah, Jauntie,” he said slowly, smiling. “We can absolutely get food. I know a place.”

  “Of course you know a place.” She found herself smiling back. She wasn’t entirely sure what they were smiling about, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop, with Johnny’s green eyes on hers, the mouth that had done so much sensual damage to her body lazily smiling at her.

  “Do you like Thai?” he asked.

  “Tonight, I’ll like anything,” she said boldly.

  “That’s really good information to have.” He tightened his fingers on hers.

  She laughed. She felt really, really good. Not guilty. Not even a little bit.

  They finished packing up and strode to the banquet hall doors, loaded down with bags and coats and piles of paperwork. As they went, Johnny slid an ear bud back into his ear to check his messages. Guess he’d heard that ringing phone too.

  He swung one of the banquet doors open and held it for her, his arm lifted high for her to pass under.

  “A message,” he murmured. “From the judge.”

  She stepped through. Johnny came after, keeping a hold on the door so it shut quietly. She stood blinking in the bright lights of the wide, carpeted landing outside of the banquet hall. To the far right, a door led to a gym and pool, and opposite them stood the bank of elevators.