Joy Ride (3 page)

She quaked at the thought of what might happen if she went inside but she was sick and tired of her life that suddenly looked dull gray. Even though her anticipation was mixed with fear and guilt, she wanted to be a little wild and crazy. Push the envelope. Take a chance on what came next tonight. Whatever that was.

If I get hit by a car tomorrow, I’ll never know what might have been
.

She paused to take in a steadying breath and let it out.

Okay, Emma. You wanted some excitement. Here it is, so don’t screw it up. Take a chance.

He waited for her to walk around the car and catch up to him, looking dark and mysterious in the ambient light from a street lamp. Emma put her hand into the one he was holding out to her, and he led her up the steps to the front door. Tiny sparks of electricity danced through her, heat suffusing her.

“I don’t even know your name,” he said as he fished one-handed for his house key.

“I don’t know yours, either,” she told him.

“It’s Marc. Marc Malone.” He opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. “What’s yours?”

“It’s…um….” Her voice faded off. Tell him her name? Good girls didn’t give their names to sexy men they went home with from a bar. Besides, anonymity was her cloak in this wild exhilarating joy ride, and she wrapped it tightly around herself.

He stood there, an expectant look on his face.

Tell him something, dummy
.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Not a hard question,” he prompted. “You gotta have a name. Everyone does.” When she still didn’t answer him, he said, “Okay, I’ll call you Music Lady, because you danced to the music. ML for short. How’s that?”

She giggled nervously, her purse sliding from her hand. “Okay. Maybe I’ll call you Guitar Man.”

“Call me whatever you want.” His voice was low, seductive.

Kiss me again. Please. Then I don’t have to worry about things like names
.

As if he’d heard the silent message, he turned her toward him, cradled her head in his warm palms, and lightly pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were as warm and sensuous as she remembered, and the feel of them sent sparks flying through her. The male scent of him surrounded her, invading her like an addictive drug. Her nipples stiffened again and between her thighs, she felt a low throb deep inside her body. She clung to his wrists again, anchoring herself.

His fingers gripped her skull and he slanted his lips this way and that, finding a better angle before thrusting his tongue deeper inside her mouth. His touch was firm. Possessive.

Ohmigod
!

Kissing had never, ever been like this, so arousing that every nerve screamed for his touch. He was tall enough that she had to reach up to him but not so tall he towered over her. Lean but not skinny. Muscular. And their bodies fit together as if made for each other. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man inside her more than she wanted her next breath.

I want him to fuck me
.

Lordy, where had that come from? Andrew would have been shocked into a state of performance anxiety if she used it with him. She swallowed a laugh, seized by a hysterical desire to show up naked at Andrew’s front door and scream “
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
” at him.

But in the next moment, all she could think about was the scorching flame of Guitar Man’s tongue searing her every place it touched, seducing her, coaxing her. Wiping away the attack of nerves that had invaded her. He moved his hands slowly down her neck and shoulders to her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as his palms cupped her, and his thumbs rubbed her nipples through the fabric of her shirt and her bra. More cream flooded her core and the throbbing in its walls intensified. Every pulse point pounded as wildness surged through her.

And still his tongue danced with hers, coaxing more and more of a response. She thrust boldly into his mouth, loving the purely male essence of him, wanting to drink him in so she could hold the taste forever.

The shock of it slammed into her. This was what she’d been looking for her entire life without even knowing it. This! This feeling. This man. And even while it terrified her, she welcomed it.

When he lifted his head, they were both gasping for air. Marc stared hard into her eyes as if searching for an answer to a silent question, then backwalked her into the house. He reached out a hand and in a moment, soft light from a small lamp illuminated the space.

Now she could see the strong line of his jaw, the clear dark blue of his eyes framed with thick eyelashes, the strong nose and the high cheekbones. There was something so totally masculine about him. She felt it sizzling straight to her sex.

She stared at him, flashing hot and cold.

“Yeah, that’s right, keeping looking at me. Don’t look around,” he whispered and laughed, a low, rusty sound. “I’m not sure what the place looks like. Bachelor pad, you know.”

“I don’t care.” She sighed. “You’re the only thing I want to see.”

When had she ever been so bold? Colored outside the lines? But with this man she was someone else, someone ready to fly into hyperspace.

“And I want to see you. Every bit of you. You are just so damn beautiful.”

Beautiful? Had anyone, even Andrew ever told her that? And in a way that made her think it might be true?

She stared at Marc’s face, trying to read his expression. His smile was warm and genuine, lighting him from within. It was soothing and at the same time stimulating. And he smelled completely delicious. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze took in every inch of her. Finally, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back slightly.

“I could get lost in these hazel eyes. I bet they change with whatever you’re feeling. And I want to see them change.” He kissed each eyelid. “A perfect nose.” Another kiss on the tip, and his lips trailed down her cheek to her chin and then the column of her neck. His tongue slid along her jawline then down the column of her neck, and shivers skimmed the length of her spine. “So soft,” he murmured. “Like satin.”

He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat, and she was sure he could feel her pulse pounding erratically. She clutched at him, her knees weak and the crotch of her panties already soaked.

He raised his head to look into her eyes and, even in the semi-darkness, she could see a wealth of emotion there. When he took her hand and led her down a short hallway into an unlit room, she wanted to tell him,
Hurry, hurry
. A flick of a wall switch and light bloomed from a small bedside lamp. Emma saw what seemed to be like acres of dark blue on a king-sized bed, covered with a dark blue comforter. An image of the two of them naked rolling around on it made heat creep to her cheeks and an unfamiliar hunger gripped her.

Marc lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You’re shaking.” He studied her expression. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can stop right now.”

She trembled with need, not fear. Her gaze skimmed his face, dark hair falling around it like a silk cloak, stubble shadowing his strong jaw, stormy blue eyes flashing with fire. Not do this? Was he crazy?

“Don’t stop,” she told him in a soft voice. “I want this.”

“Me, too.” His voice was a low, sexy growl.

She wet her lips. “I-I never do this. I want you to know that.”

He grinned at her. “Have sex?” he teased.

Her face heated. “Go home with someone I’ve just met.”

She expected arrogance, male pride, self-satisfaction but what she got was a look of such tenderness, it made her heart clench.

“I figured that out already, babe. It’s okay. We’ll just take things easy.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want that. I want you. Everything. All of it.”

All the things I’ve heard whispered about but never experienced. I want what put that look in Jacie’s eyes
.

He brushed his mouth over hers. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

He untied the tails of her blouse and popped each button slowly, pushing the fabric down her arms until the garment fell to the floor. In the next instant the bra followed it. The heat of his gaze raked over her breasts. He took her nipples between thumb and forefinger of each hand and squeezed gently.

“Jesus, you have the most gorgeous breasts.” He sounded almost reverent. “Your nipples are so rosy, so firm.”

Bending his head, he took one firm bud into his mouth and sucked deeply, flicking his tongue over the pebbled surface. His lips and tongue were so soft, she melted beneath them. The sensation was almost unbearable, and she moaned in response.

His warm palms cupped her breasts. His palms holding the weight of them as he worshipped first one nipple then the other. The slightly rough surface of his tongue sent jolts of heat through her. Emma stood there feeling truly desirable for the first time in her life. This was no obligatory action. This man actually wanted her.
Her!
And she wanted him just as badly.

She lifted her hands and stroked along his jawline, loving the rough texture of his late night growth of beard. She moved her fingers upward to the thick shock of hair that was so soft and smooth as she touched it, still wild from his movements on stage. Her breathing hitched as he pulled harder first on one nipple then the other before tracing a line down the valley between her breasts with his tongue.

Marc moved down her rib cage to the waistband of her jeans, and she heard the pop as the snap opened and the hiss of the zipper being lowered. He pushed her jeans and panties down past her hips before urging her down to the bed, lowering her to the edge of the mattress. His gaze never left hers as he tugged the garments off the rest of the way. Then he put his lean fingers on her thighs and spread them wide.

At first, Emma felt self-consciously exposed, his eyes drinking in the sight of her pubic curls and the pink flesh of her sex. The men she’d been with before this always did everything in the dark. Now she wondered if Marc liked what he saw. If she was as sexy as the other women he’d been with.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he murmured, “Beautiful.”

When he knelt on the floor in front of her and she realized what he was about to do, she tried to push him away.

“You—you don’t have to do that,” she stammered.

He looked up at her. “I don’t
have
to do anything. I
want
to. Hasn’t any man ever wanted to eat this sweet pussy before?”

The word shocked her. It wasn’t one she used in conversations with girlfriends. Not even with Annie, her best friend. And certainly none of the pitifully few men she’d been with used blunt sexual language. Sometimes Andrew seemed almost embarrassed to acknowledge they were having sex.

While she was still trying to form an answer to his question, he bent his head and traced a line down the length of her slit with his tongue.

The blast of heat that surged through her was shocking. Every nerve fired and her…
pussy
…clenched! Just that one caress nearly did her in.

He made a humming noise of satisfaction. “And delicious, too,” he murmured against her flesh.

His words made her shiver, made her pulse ratchet up and erotic hunger clutch at her. Without thinking she widened her legs even more, and he groaned in pleasure against her flesh. Another lick. Another stroke with his tongue. Then a flick against the throbbing bud of her clit, and another jolt of sensation speared her so powerful it gripped her like an iron fist.

He nudged her back on the bed until she was lying flat and draped her legs over his shoulders. Dropping to his knees, he opened the lips of her sex with those lean talented fingers, stroking her as if he was playing his guitar, and thrust his tongue deep inside her.

“Ohhhhh.” A moan slipped past her lips.

Then he did it again. And again. Moving his fingers so he could rub and tease her clit as he fucked her with his tongue, coaxing her to a higher plane of arousal.

Emma lay there wrapped in a cloud of pleasure that drifted over every inch of her skin, giving herself over to responses that were new and startling. She wanted this to go on forever—that glide and plunge of his tongue, the flick and rub of his fingers. But the coil of need wound so tightly inside her began to unfurl itself and spiral up through her body.

She tensed for a moment when Marc used his fingers to scoop some of the cream from her soaking vagina. Aware that she was wetter than she ever remembered, she jumped when he slid lower and lower until he reached the tight ring of the anal sphincter. No one had ever touched her
there
before. But then her lips parted, her breathing hitched, and she lifted to him.

His fingers, calloused from playing the bass, rasped against her tender skin and slid to her pussy again, sending frissons of excitement skittering along every nerve. He worked three of them into her as his mouth sucked hard on her clit. The orgasm hit without warning.

“Oh, oh, oh.” The sounds of pleasure rippled from her mouth. Body shaking, her own whimpers and cries echoed in her ears.

She jerked her hips, arching toward him as she shook with spasm after spasm. Deep inside, every muscle clenched in response. Marc’s tongue continued stroking and lapping until the tremors subsided, and she became a limp mass. He licked the last drop of juice from her pussy, humming his appreciation.

He rose to his feet and leaned over her, the liquid of her arousal gleaming on his face. When they kissed she tasted herself on his lips, a taste that was shockingly pleasurable.

“You are incredible,” he murmured. “A goddess. I want to worship your body forever.”

She smiled at him, spent, but unbelievably feeling a response growing again at his words. And wondering how it was even possible.

But now she was hungry to see every lean, muscular inch of
him
.

“I want you naked,” she told him, the words spilling from her mouth with a new boldness.

Marc grinned but when he spoke, his voiced was ragged and uneven. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He rose and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor on top of her clothes. His jeans and boxers followed, and then he stood before her in his wonderful lean nakedness, dark hair curling on his chest and arrowing down to his groin where his magnificent cock rose proudly from its thick nest of curls. A beautiful tattoo sleeve covered one arm, unlike anything Emma had ever seen before. The only ones she was familiar with some actor had sported on television. But the beauty of the colors of this one, the scrollwork and unique characters and the delicate tracery of the design fascinated her. The hues were vivid, the lines scrolls and sweeps, each blending into the next, some more powerful than the others. Like his music, she thought. She could spend hours just studying it, artwork worthy of display in a museum.