“Do you toast?” she asked, standing in his kitchen close to him in that killer, sexy-as-all-fuck outfit with all that hair, holding two big hamburger buns up and out to her sides.
Rush took her in.
No.
He was wrong.
Not promise.
Not keeping her for a while.
Hell no.
She just might be a keeper.
Full stop.
“Am I making dinner, or are you?” he asked.
She shot him a playful smile and asked back, “Am I cramping your style, stud?”
He dropped his eyes before he lifted them again. “Is my hand gonna be up that skirt later?”
“If you let me toast buns.”
He started laughing, saying, “Toast away, baby. No way I’m gonna stop you.”
She smiled to herself as she headed toward the stove.
He caught her on her way, pulled her into his arms, and took her mouth.
He made it wet and deep and long, and when he ended it, she followed his mouth for an inch, showing she didn’t want it to end.
He was there with her.
But first, she’d mentioned she was hungry.
And he bought potato chips for her.
So he had to feed his girl.
“More later,” he murmured, staring into her soft, gorgeous face.
“Tease.”
“Toast, woman.”
Her lips curved up, she pressed into him for a beat then she pulled out of his arms.
“Before hanky-panky, I want a tour of your sweet crib,” she declared as she hiked a dial on his oven.
Yeah.
His Superwoman.
He had a feeling she was gonna be a keeper.
Cock Blocker
Rush
“And we’re back in the living room.”
Dinner was over.
He’d given Rebel a tour of his place.
And it was proved she had shit jacking with her head when she arrived, because she was far from disinterested and hid just how interested she was by giving him shit about his interior decorating abilities from practically the beginning.
“That couch is very queer eye,” she declared, standing in front of it and staring at it.
“Babe, you do know you don’t have to like ass to pick a decent couch,” he retorted.
She gave him dancing eyes. “You don’t like ass?”
“Rephrase.”
She busted out laughing.
Rush caught her waist, sat his own ass in his couch with its soft, supple black leather seats, so wide they were almost beds, and cushions so yielding, he barely had to stretch out on it before he was taking a nap.
A phone rang somewhere, not his, but he ignored it because he was pulling her into his lap as he went down.
It was Rebel who adjusted while he was doing that so she was straddling it.
Sweet.
“Someone’s ready to get busy,” he teased, gliding his hands inside the cardigan and up the silky material of her dress at her sides, his head tipping back to catch her eyes.
She put her hands light on either side of his neck and dipped her chin to look into his.
“Thanks for not freaking out about my meltdown, baby,” she whispered.
“Not a problem,” he whispered back, rubbing his thumbs across her ribs.
“I don’t make that a habit.”
Right.
Instinct was shouting at him that he needed to nip this shit in the bud right away.
So he set about doing that.
“Sweetheart, this is important, so listen. I want you to just be you with me. The part I didn’t like was when you held it inside. Truth. I didn’t mind at all when it came out.”
She tipped her head to the side, watching as she rubbed her knuckles along his jaw.
Her touch was a different kind of sweet.
“Are you for real?” she asked like she wasn’t talking to him.
And that was a different, even better kind of sweet.
He dug his fingers into her flesh gently. “Do I feel real?”
Her gaze came back to his. “Physically, yes. Other ways, it’s like I made you up.”
Jesus, that just plain felt good.
Christ, it felt good.
Fuck, it felt even better than having all the beauty that was her straddling his lap with it being her that put it there.
He slid his hands back and pulled her closer. “You didn’t make me up.”
“Did Essence’s fairy magic do it?”
He smiled at her as his hands made her shoulder blades. “Maybe.”
“I hope it lasts awhile,” she whispered, her focus on his lips.
She was being cute.
But he was done with this.
And the cock she was sitting on was so done with this.
To share that, he slid one hand up to her neck, the other around her and muttered, “Babe.”
He hadn’t noticed the phone stop ringing until it started again.
She turned her head toward the kitchen.
Shit.
“Rebel,” he called.
She turned her head back.
He slid his hand up into her hair.
She took the hint and dropped her mouth to his.
He angled his head.
She tipped hers the other way.
He was going to go gentle.
But she rolled her hips on his dick.
Oh yeah.
She was ready to get busy.
So he went in fast and deep.
Her fingers slid up into his hair.
His fingers slid back to shove the cardigan off her shoulders.
He lost her hands in his hair when she pushed her arms back for him to pull the cardigan down them.
He did and tossed it away.
She tangled her tongue with his, pressing her hips into his, her chest to his, her hand cupping his jaw, her other back in his hair.
He wound an arm around her hips, the fingers of his other hand he drove into her hair.
Rush held her to him and took her mouth and she gave it, fuck. All that sweet was phenomenal.
She liked to kiss. She liked contact. She liked claiming touch, giving and taking. She liked tongue. And if those sounds she was making were any indication while she rubbed against his now-hard cock, she fucking loved what she was doing to him.
And it went without saying, he loved it too.
He’d find he was right when he whipped her to her back on the couch, covered her and she breathed, “Yes.”
Fuck yes.
He took her mouth and she wrapped a leg around his thigh.
Her leg free to do that, serious as fuck, he liked this dress.
His hand went to the hem, in and up.
Silky skin. Smooth. Warm.
He wanted more.
She lifted her hips into his crotch.
Rebel wanted more too.
He growled into her mouth and guided his hand toward her tit.
Her phone rang again.
He tore his lips from hers and scowled toward the kitchen.
“Baby,” she whispered.
He looked down at her.
Christ, her face.
His dick twitched.
She was right there with him and she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Your phone ring this much?” he asked.
“Rush—”
“Does it?”
She shook her head, coming out of her haze and studying him.
He said what he very much did not want to say when his hand was finally up her dress and two inches from her tit.
“I think you need to get that.”
Before he could change his mind, Rush extracted his hand, knifed off her and moved to her phone.
It had stopped ringing by the time he got to where it was sitting on top of her purse on his kitchen counter.
But he caught the screen that had three of the same notifications on it: Essence Missed Call.
Shit, shit, fuck.
He looked from it to see she was walking toward him in nothing but that dress and those boots, and he could not believe he was hoping this was just some hippie cock-blocking joke and this would be done in five minutes so they could say goodbye to his couch and he could take them right to his bed.
“Who?” she asked.
“Essence,” he told her, handing her the phone when she stopped in front of him.
Her expression showed nothing but concern as she bent her head and started swiping at her phone.
“She fuck with you on dates?” he asked.
“No way,” she whispered, put the phone to her ear and her attention to his face. “Essence?” Pause. “Wait. Slow down. A what?”
Her gaze drifted away as all the color left her face.
Rush growled and put a hand to her hip, using it to guide her to his body.
Her eyes shot back to his. “Did you call the police?”
“Fuck,” he clipped.
“Okay. Good. Stay inside. Wait for them. You’re inside, yeah?”
“Fuck,” he hissed, letting her go and twisting to grab her purse.
“Right. Okay, honey. Right. Right. Essence, darling, slow down. Listen. Rush and I are coming.”
And they were.
He had her hand in one of his, her purse in his other, and he was dragging her to the back door.
“We’ll be there as fast as we can. Stay inside until the police get there. Promise me?”
They were out the back door and taking the steps down to the walk and they were doing it fast.
“Okay. Be there soon.”
He turned his head to look at her when he sensed her off the phone.
“What?” he asked.
“She heard a screech of tires.”
He stopped them at his back gate and stared at her face.
“A long honk,” she went on. “Another screech of tires. She looked outside, a car was taking off. But she saw something in the street. She went out.” She shook her head and then chanted, “Rush. Rush.”
She was losing it, spasmodically pumping his hand hard.
“Baby, get it out.”
“She said it was a dead body. A woman.”
“Fuck,” he bit, lifted the latch and yanked her through the gate.
He did not wait for her to climb up into his truck.
He lifted her ass into the seat and dropped her purse in her lap.