Crazy on You

After the other morning, she couldn’t exactly deny it, and she was too old to play coy games. “Anyone can walk in here.” The fire he’d started in her veins a few days ago flared in her chest. The crazy consuming lust that absolutely could not happen here.

He shook his head and his eyes turned a shade darker. “They had their coats on and were walking outside when I came in here.”

“They could come back.”

“I locked the door.”

“We can’t do this here.” She meant to sound more forceful, but the crazy, consuming lust burned her throat and toasted her pitiful resistance.

“That’s what I thought until you stood up and walked toward me. You shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

“You’re blaming my dress?” But this is Amarillo, she rationalized. Not Lovett. In a town the size of Lovett, the fact that he’d shown up tonight would have been telegraphed to half the town by now. In Amarillo, she was just another salon owner and no one cared.

“Yes, and the tight outfit you had on Monday. The way you’ve been in my head for the past five days and the hard-on that won’t go away no matter how many times I abuse myself. I didn’t think we were going to do this here, but I’m think we have to now.”

“What if someone—” His mouth on hers silenced her protest. The other morning, he’d started slower, kissing her neck and throat and cheek. Easing her into it. Tonight he hit her fast with hot lust and wet pleasure. His mouth working hers, feeding and hungry. It pulled her up on her toes and smashed her against his chest, so close she could feel the pounding of his heart. Her hands slid over his arms and shoulders and the back of his head. And like the other morning, a deep shuddering groan vibrated in his chest as if he couldn’t get enough of her touch. She liked knowing she did that to him. A strong beautiful man who couldn’t get enough of Lily Darlington.

She kissed him back, her tongue slick with carnal implications. He pressed his erection into her pelvis and she had to lock her knees to keep from falling. She slid up his chest then back down, feeling every hard muscle and length of his harder erection.

He grasped the bottom of her sequined dress, drew it up her thighs to her waist. His hands found her bare behind and he fingered the thin lace of her thong panties. He palmed her bare backside and rubbed his denim button fly against the tiny triangle of lace covering her crotch.

He lifted his face and came up for air. “Lily,” he gasped.

She looked into his eyes, dark and sleepy with lust, and reached for the bottom of his sweater. She pulled it over his head and tossed it to the wooden floor. She lowered her gaze to the brown hair on his hard, defined chest. For some reason, she’d thought his chest would be bare. But it wasn’t. He was a man with a man’s chest and a thin line of hair trailed down his flat abdomen, circled his navel, and darted beneath the waistband of his Levi’s. A snarling bulldog was tattooed on the ball of his shoulders with the words U.S. ARMY inked beneath. RELENTLESS was tattooed in heavy black ink on the inside of his forearm, which described him perfectly: his hands, his mouth, and the lust rolling off him in heavy, relentless waves.

She bent forward and kissed his shoulder, ran her fingers across his pec and down his belly to the front of his jeans. She squeezed his erection and caressed him through the denim. Desire, hot and gripping, tightened her breasts and stomach and pulled between her legs.

“Wait.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her until her back was against his chest. He reached for the zipper on the back of her dress and slid it down. Through the old bordello mirror, she watched as he slid her dress from her shoulders. Just before it slipped down her arms, she placed her hands on the sequins over her breasts.

“I have implants,” she told him. She hadn’t worn a bra because strap lines showed beneath the tight dress, and in a moment he would see the thin scars beneath each areola.

Confusion lowered his brows. “What?”

“I have breast implants. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Is that a trick question?”

She shook her head as he grasped her wrists. “Some men don’t like implants.”

In the mirror, he raised his gaze from her hands to her face. “A man told you that?”

She shook her head. “A few women in my chair over the years have mentioned it.”

“A man would never say that unless he thought it would get him laid.” He shoved her wrists to her sides. For a second, her dress caught on her hard nipples then slid down her stomach to her waist. “Lily.” The breath left his lungs and brushed the side of her head. “You’re beautiful.”

The dress fell to the floor and she kicked it aside. She stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but her white panties—owning a salon and spa made it easy for her to keep her pubic area waxed and trimmed into a perfect triangle hidden beneath her thong—but looking at her abdomen . . . it was flat but not as tight and toned as she’d like. She examined the palm-size yellow-and-orange lily tattoo on the inside of her hip that she’d thought was such a good idea six years ago. “Are you lying to get laid?” She tried to turn to face him, away from her image in the mirror, but his hands moved to her abdomen and he pulled her against him. The hair on his chest tickled her bare back. She felt completely wrapped up, surrounded by his relentless passion.

“I’ll never lie to you, Lily.” He slid one hand up and cupped her breast. Her hard nipple stabbed his warm palm and her breath caught in her lungs. “You’re so beautiful and I ache to be with you.”

She knew the feeling. She ached too. All over. Then he slipped his hand beneath the little triangle of her thong and touched her where she ached most.

“You’re wet,” he whispered next to her ear. “Push your panties down for me. Push ’em down around your ankles.” He brushed this thumb across her nipple and again she had to lock her knees to keep from sliding to the floor. She did as he asked, then looked at his big hands—one covering her breast the other her crotch. He slid his fingers deeper between her thighs and she reached behind her bare bottom and slipped her own hand beneath the waistband of his jeans. She wrapped her hand around his hot thick shaft and squeezed. She reached up with her free hand and brought his mouth down to hers. She gave him a long wet kiss and her heart pounded in her chest. She loved the way he touched her. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

Tucker lifted his mouth from Lily’s and looked into the deep blue of her heavily lidded eyes. He turned his attention to the mirror and watched his hands on her body . . . on the perfect patch between her legs, and his fingers lightly pinching her pink nipples. Her hand gripping his cock was driving him close to the edge. She tore at the buttons of his Levi’s, and he pulled a condom from his back pocket a second before his pants slid down his legs.

“Grab the desk with your hands.”

She stepped one foot out of her thong, the she bent foreword and looked back over her shoulder at him. “You remember the no man’s land, right?”

“I’ll never do anything you’re not comfortable doing.” He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to make it so good she wanted more. He pulled himself out of his boxer-briefs and rolled the condom down the shaft of his penis. “Spread your feet a little bit for me.”

She did and he slid his hand over her bottom and between her legs. She was wet and ready and he parted her slick flesh. Her back arched as he positioned himself and he slid into the hot pleasure of her body. She was incredibly tight around him. Pulling him deeper and deeper until he couldn’t sink any deeper.

She moaned low in her throat and whispered his name. He looked in the mirror, at him naked behind her, her beautiful face turned back, looking at him. Mine, he thought as he pulled out and thrust into her again. She pushed her bottom against him. Straining, wanting more. He gave it to her in long powerful thrusts. He drove inside again and again, his heart pounded boom-boom-boom. Mine. Mine. Mine. Over the roar in his head and ears, he heard her say his name. Telling him she wanted him. More. Harder.

“Tucker,” she moaned loud enough to be heard in the next county as he felt the first tightening pulse of her orgasm. Good, he thought on some primal level. He was sure they were the only two left in the salon, but he didn’t care. If there was anyone around, they’d know what the two of them were doing. Know they were together. That she belonged to him now. He’d never been a possessive man, but as her orgasm pulled his own release from deep in his belly, he knew that he wanted this to last forever.

The most intense pleasure he’d ever felt in his life rippled through his body and slammed into his heart. It