Jump Start (7 page)

Time stood still as she poured all the shattered pieces of herself into the slide of tongue against tongue. Her hands gripped his shoulders, one to his face. She took…and took; she demanded.

It was Bobby who broke the connection, pulling back to stare down at her with dark eyes that stole a path straight to her soul. Jennifer could barely breathe, compelled by their intensity, in the certainty that whatever escape she’d believed the kiss had offered, had simply led her deeper into a trap.

Bobby pushed to his feet and for the second time that evening, he scooped her into his arms. The crowd came back into focus, the hoots and hollers suddenly an invasion of privacy. Jennifer buried her face in Bobby’s neck, seeking refuge with the very man she should be hiding from. But what she felt, what she wanted, what she had to deal with—all of it ended right back at him and him alone, not to be shared with anyone else. Not a crowd, not even Marcie, who was like a sister to her.

Jennifer let him carry her away, knowing full well they were headed to a bedroom to finish what they’d started seven years before. In bed. And she was going to enjoy every last minute of it—because she deserved it.

Bobby carried Jennifer up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He shoved open a spare bedroom, dim light flickering from a bedside lamp. He kicked the door shut behind them, locked it, and carried Jennifer to the mattress. They went down on the bed, her on the bottom, him on top. That was where he wanted to be. On top. For now. Later, she could be on top.

“What was that all about down there?” he demanded. “On second thought, don’t answer that. You’ll just piss me off more than I already am.”

“You’re pissed—” He smothered her words with a kiss, spearing his tongue past her lips with command. She was his, maybe not forever, but for now. He branded her with long strokes of his tongue, greedily taking until he tore his mouth from hers, hungry for more than her mouth.

She gasped and shoved at his shoulders. “You’re pissed off?” she demanded. “I’m pissed off, Bobby!”

“Good,” he hissed and pushed off the bed, unbuttoning his shirt enough to pull it over his head. “Then show me pissed off, Jennifer. Show me now.” He tossed the shirt on the floor. He remembered the fights and the makeup sex—passionate, hot, couldn’t-get-enough-of-each-other sex—he wanted that now.

Jennifer pressed herself to a sitting position on the bed, her breath heavy, chest rising and falling, lifting her full, high breasts, as she declared, “This isn’t makeup sex, Bobby,” she warned, reading his mind. Proving she still knew him.

Shackling her ankles, he pulled her to the end of the bed, her legs on either side of his, her back now on the mattress. Hands to her waist, Bobby pushed her shirt upward and made quick work of removing it. “Fine then,” he said, grabbing one of her boots, and then the other, insurance she wasn’t going anywhere fast. “It’s not makeup sex.”

She sat up and pressed her hands to his waist, tilting her chin to stare up at him with a gleam in her beautiful eyes. “Then it’s settled,” she said, her hand sliding over his crotch, tracing the rock-hard ridge of his bulging erection before unsnapping his pants. “Just sex. Only sex. And I’m in charge.” She tugged his zipper down, then tugged at his waist. “Take them off.”

He didn’t argue. The faster they were naked, the happier he would be. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to fuck her and then make love to her and do them both again, in no particular order. Fully intending to undress, he instead stood spellbound, watching Jennifer as she undressed. His cock thickened as her bra fell away, her nipples plump and rosy, with memories of licking them while she sat on the kitchen counter.

Next she stood, sliding down her jeans and panties, kicking them aside. And how had he gone seven years without seeing this woman naked? Desire punched him in the stomach with gut-wrenching impact, his gaze raking over soft ivory skin, a narrow waist, sexy hips.

He reached for her. She held up a hand and sidestepped. “Oh, no, Bobby. You want control but you don’t have it.” She was behind him before he knew her intention, her hands on his waist. “Slide these jeans down and let me see if your backside is still as glorious as it once was.”

His cock twitched, as pleased with her comment as he was. “You thought my backside was glorious?” he asked over his shoulder, shoving his pants down, underwear and all.

“You know I did,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He grinned. “Yeah,” he admitted, since she’d told him often. “But I wanted to hear you say it.” Because it reminded her of the past, because it drove home how much that past was a part of the sex they were about to have. And because it did his ego good.

Jennifer smacked his ass, not hard, but it got him harder—as if that was even possible, but apparently it was. Electric heat raced down his thighs, tugged at his balls.

“Nice and firm,” she purred. “I approve.”

He would have reached for her, but she seemed to anticipate his intentions and wrapped herself around him. He damn near whimpered. This was Jennifer—soft, silky Jennifer who had melted into him like a second skin, the stiff peaks of her nipples against his back, her hands on his stomach.

He reached down, grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. Molded her to his side and chest, her hip resting against his jutting erection.

She reached down and stroked it. He sucked in a breath and molded her closer. “I liked this, too,” she said, closing her hand around the width. He pulsed in her hand, and offered her a little of her own medicine, smacking her ass, as she had his.

She gasped and pumped his cock. He laced his fingers in her hair and kissed her, drank in that sweet, honey bliss and suckled her tongue. She was on her toes, reaching for more of his mouth, her hand working him over. Oh, yes, she was still a mind-blowing combination of sweet angel who could turn sex goddess behind closed doors.

He closed his hand over hers. “If this is your way of punishing me for the ass slap, sweetheart,” he said, “please, don’t stop.”

“I can think of so many better ways to punish you,” she promised.

“Any of them involve a feather?” he challenged. “And yes—I remember that feather often, and there is no way I would have shared our secrets. What we do together is between us.”

She blinked up at him, the tension suddenly thick between them—sexual, emotional, raw. And then something snapped. The games, all of them, outside the room, and inside, were gone.

“Jennifer,” he said softly, lifting her weight so that her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her hand went to his face, her fingers lacing his jaw, his lips. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispered.

Bobby sucked in a breath, his chest heavy with the impact of her words, at the message behind them. She’d told him more than she realized. This moment, them together again, meant something more to her than sex. And he burned to spill the regret in his heart, to explain why he’d left. To open a door for them to explore what might be in their future. Instinctively though, he knew, if he said the wrong thing, she’d shut down. He’d lose the ground he’d gained.

As much as Bobby knew she wanted control, he needed to feel her beneath him. He settled her on the mattress, and went down on top of her, urging her legs apart as he pressed between them. For tonight, she was his.

Clarity wrenched through him before he pressed his erection to the V of her body where wet heat enveloped him in pure bliss. He sucked in a breath. “Please tell me you’re still on the pill,” he said, willing himself to move, but unable to find the will. “Because I left the condoms I bought in the car.”

“You bought condoms?” she asked. “Assuming we would—”

He kissed her. “Hoping.”

“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.

Her admission hit him with a hard dose of bittersweet emotion. Bobby swallowed a lump the size of Texas. Part of him screamed with the reality of her being on the pill to be with other men. Of course, he knew this, expected it. He’d left. He’d handed her over. He’d been with other women. But none who touched him as Jen had, still did. And he was damn lucky no other man had married her and made babies. That no other man had crossed the lines of intimacy he’d shared with her.

And so he kissed her, a long sweep of his tongue drawing hers into action. Wildness unleashed in him, a fierce need to make her his—a fierce demand that she
was
his, no matter how false that statement, no matter how untrue it might be.

His hand traveled her rib cage, her breasts. He pinched her nipples, tugged and tweaked, feeling her arch against him, her thighs clenching as she tried to pull his cock deep into the wet heat of her body. Silently begging him to enter her. And how he wanted inside her, but he also wanted this to last. Bobby tore his mouth from hers, maneuvering so that he lay beside her, and then angling her forward, intending to put her on her stomach.

“Oh, no,” she said. “You. On your back. I told you. I’m in charge.”

“Me, doing anything and everything to please you,” he said, his hand sliding down her hip, lips nuzzling her neck, teeth nipping her earlobe. “If that’s not control, I don’t know what is.” He brushed her hair aside, kissing her neck, urging her to her stomach. He smiled against her skin. “You can still tell me exactly where you want me.” His lips brushed her skin again. “Exactly what you need.”

And what he needed—was her.

He tugged her close, molding her to hard muscle. Their breath mingled, warm and tempting. “I’ll take you any way I can get you,” he said, his lips brushing hers, the soft caress sliding along every nerve ending she owned.

Barely containing a shiver, she whispered, “Good.” Then more forcefully, she ordered, “Now. On your back. Hands behind your head. You touch when I say you touch.”

He did as she said, cock standing up, engorged, inviting her to climb on top, to finally feel him inside her again. Instead, she scooted close to his side, flattening her hand on his abdomen, the ripples of hard muscle flexing beneath her fingers. Desire welled inside her.

Stretched out, he was six foot three inches of long, hard male, waiting for her next move. “What should I do first?” she queried mischievously, sitting up and running a hand over one powerful thigh.

“I’ll be happy to offer suggestions,” he said, his voice deep, raspy, his eyes raking over her nipples. They puckered instantly, the reaction spreading through her body and pooling heat between her thighs.

“I bet you can,” she said, her palm traveling up his hip, over his pelvis, teasing him with how close she was to the jut of his erection. “Like taking you in my mouth, I bet.” She knew how much talking turned him on. It did her, too.

“Suck me, baby,” he said. “Put those sweet lips around me and end my misery.”

She leaned in slowly. “Maybe I prefer you in misery,” she said, kissing his stomach, her hair spraying tantalizingly across his cock, teasing him. And she knew it, and enjoyed every second. She wrapped her palm around the base of his shaft, glancing up at him as she blew lightly on the tip.

“Witch,” he accused, his hips lifting toward her mouth.

With her tongue, she dotted the head of his shaft, and he moaned. “Wicked witch,” she promised, wrapping the width of him with her hand, when suddenly, he moved.

Before she knew what was happening, Bobby had the V of her body at his head and his mouth closed down on her. She gasped as he suckled her clit, her hand tightening on his cock.

She rolled into him, so that they were facing one another, on their sides, and drew him into her mouth, suckling him as he laved her with his tongue, teasing the sensitive flesh. His fingers slid inside her, stretching her, pleasuring her.

Jennifer suckled Bobby deeper, harder, her mind a rainbow of colors, all about need, want, desire—for more of Bobby. She moaned as little darts of sensation slid down her thighs, up her stomach, into her breasts. One hand held him firmly, the other grabbed his backside, pulling him into her, taking him deeper. He pumped against her slide, up and down his length. Faster, harder. His fingers stroked her inside, his tongue licked her, lips suckled her clit.

“Oh,” she moaned, the rush of heat coming over her in a sudden, intense blast. Unable to breathe with the pleasure building inside her, she let go of him with all but her hand. Jennifer collapsed against his stomach in a shuddered release that shot through her core and shook her body until she gasped with the final spasm that left her seeing stars.

“Damn you,” she whispered, lifting her head, so limp and loose, she could barely move. “I was—”

He cut off her words with actions, smiling and rolling her to her back, spreading her legs, braced above her as he slid his cock along her wet aching core. “On top,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Now I’m on top.” He slipped the head of his shaft inside her and then thrust deep. “And inside you where we both want me to be.” Slowly, holding her stare, Bobby slid his pulsing cock back down the sleek, wet canal of her body, until only the head remained. Jennifer arched her hips, reaching for him, whispering a plea. He was driving her crazy with anticipation. Bobby drove into her.

Sensation exploded in the depths of her womb and Jennifer gasped, her fingers curling on Bobby’s biceps, as he buried himself to the hilt. Without warning, emotion shoved its way to the surface. Bobby inside her. The man she’d once thought was her world. The man she would have said only two days ago, she never wanted to see again.

And yet he was here, resting on his elbows, looming above her in all his naked glory. They stared at each other, his expression shadowy, taut, filled with torment that spoke of so much more than simple lust and passion.

Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut. No. This was sex. She could enjoy sex. She could walk away from sex. Sex did not leave her emotionally drained and hurt.

Determination formed inside her and Jennifer’s lashes snapped open. She arched her hips against his, her arms wrapping around his neck, chest pressed to his.

“Now, Bobby,” she ordered, knowing how close to the edge he had to be. How ready for release.

He didn’t argue with her demand. He gave her what she wanted, kissing her, claiming her mouth with a wild, hot kiss, and thrusting into her body. Emotion splintered into need, dissolving inside the shuddering ache blistering her inside and out. Bobby lifted one of her legs, angling her to drive harder into her, but still it wasn’t enough.

“More,” she whispered hoarsely, her lips pressing on his chest, his neck, his chin. “I want more.”

He drew back and stared down at her, something dark sliding across his face, before his mouth was on hers, his palm over her breast. On her body. Ruthlessly touching her, drawing her toward the point of no return. She could taste the change in him, the absoluteness of his need vibrating through the tension of his body. It turned her on, exploded inside her, the way she burned for him, too.

She bucked against him. She had to have more, more. “Harder,” she gasped.

He pressed her knees to her chest and gave her what she wanted. Hard pumps, fast pumps, deep pumps—his cock driving into her. Bobby driving into her. She needed Bobby. More. Now. She panted, trying to speak again but there were no words. Orgasm came over her in a sudden explosion. Jennifer fingers dug into Bobby’s forearms, her muscles clutching at his cock, shaking her entire body.

Bobby let out a guttural growl, pounding into her one last time, his head tilting back as the taut muscles in his body shook with release, warm heat spilling inside her. Jennifer was spellbound, watching him, riveted by the sleek lines of taut, defined muscle flexing with his release. The intensity of his expression. And yes, the bittersweet bliss of Bobby on top of her, inside her, with her.

He collapsed on top of her, head buried in her neck. She clung to him, too, told herself not to, but the minute she let him go, the minute they spoke or moved, the mood would shift. The reality would pierce the fantasy.

The air thickened with unspoken words—he felt it, too, she sensed that in him. The need to say something, to explain, to make the past better, when there was no possible way he could. But lying there, the heavy weight of him resting so erotically on top of her, she wished he could. Wished there were a way.

Long seconds later, Bobby eased off her, his gaze brushing past hers, as if he were afraid to look at her. And when she might have escaped, he pulled her back to his chest, strong arms surrounding her, his powerful leg sliding intimately over one of hers. His lips nuzzling her neck. And she let him. Let him move her, let him hold her. Let herself enjoy the moment. Until the moment was gone, and reality arrived.

“The night I left,” he said finally, “my old man was arrested.”

The announcement shocked her. His father had been arrested, and she had never known. She could hear her heart thundering in her ears as she thought about that evening—shopping with Marcie, lighthearted, having fun. Then the hours later when Bobby wouldn’t take her calls, when she feared something was wrong with him. And finally, when something deep in her heart had known he was gone for good, but logic had said she was insane—they were in love, they were getting married.

“He was drunk,” Bobby continued. “And he drove his truck into a house. A young mother and her son were inside, and barely escaped injury. I knew he’d had a problem for years. Hell, he was the reason I got good grades and a scholarship to college in Austin. I wanted out of San Antonio, out of that house. And I wasn’t about to be held captive by money. When I got out, I was out. I didn’t want to ever go back. And I made damn sure I kept you away from that world and, most importantly, my father.”

He drew a breath and Jennifer found herself letting out the one she was holding. Bobby continued, “But that night, when he called me from jail, I drove to San Antonio and I tried to help him. To convince him to agree to rehab. His attorney was backing me. That was when my uncle showed up. Joe. I never introduced you to Joe. He’s a drinker like my father. A real bastard when he’s had too much—which is pretty much always. Joe teamed up with my father, said I thought I was better than them. Joe said he’d been to college, too, and it wouldn’t save me. That I would end up like him sooner than later. It was a hot spot for me. My worst fear. What if I became like them?

“I got in the car and started driving again but not back to Austin. Hell, I didn’t even know where I was going. I blinked and I was five hundred miles away, somewhere near the Mexican border, and there was an Army recruiting office. It felt like a sign, the thing I was supposed to do. I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to know what had happened, or what I was destined to become. A random drunk in San Antonio would never make the Austin papers and I told no one. And so I made the choice to save lives so I wouldn’t destroy them. Or you. So I couldn’t destroy you. I loved you too much.” His breath caught, a long, tension-laden pause, before he added, “And I knew…I knew, Jen, if I saw you again, I’d be too weak to walk away.”

Jennifer lay there, unmoving, incapable of words, her heart lodged in her throat. Trying to digest what she really knew about Bobby. His mother had passed away from cancer when he was in his teens, and Jennifer had met his father several times, usually at the bar up the road from his shop. She’d known his father was a drinker, and she’d known it bothered Bobby. But yet, she had known nothing about how bad it was for him at home, about how bad the night he’d left had been. He’d shut her out. Maybe he’d never let her in, in the first place.

Jennifer could feel herself unraveling inside, wrestling with the heaviness in her chest, the thickness in her throat. Until an explosion of emotion burst from her, adrenaline sending her into action. Jennifer pushed out of his arms—or tried. Bobby held her too closely, the intimacy of seconds before now ringing more like captivity.

“Jennifer—”

“Let me up, Bobby!”

“Jen—”

“Let. Me. Up!”

He did. He let her go and Jennifer bolted. She whirled around on her knees, oblivious to her nakedness. She opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn’t. Not without crying. He’d never really given himself to her. He’d been looking for a reason to run and found it in his father.

“There hasn’t been a day—” he started.

“…you haven’t regretted leaving,” she finished for him, going cold inside. She’d spent seven years hurting over this man. Seven years hoping for a reason that would make sense besides that he needed an excuse out. “We just slept together, Bobby. The last time I checked, orgasm doesn’t require conversation.” She gave him a disdainful look. “But right now, I need to get back to Marcie. I’m in charge of the party.”

She scrambled toward the edge of the bed and just barely escaped as he reached for her. “So that’s it?” he challenged. “I’m letting it all hang out here, Jennifer, and you’re blowing me off?”

“Isn’t that what you did to me for seven years?” she asked, giving him her back. He didn’t respond, but he would. The air was thick, the tension crackling. But he was dressing, too; he was preparing to head her off before she departed. A confrontation was coming, and it wasn’t going to be all joy and bliss like being naked in that bed had been.

Struggling with her last boot, not about to risk the vulnerability of sitting on the bed where he might end up on top of her again—and Lord help her, she might just decide to rip her clothes off again, in the name of “she deserved every damn bit of pleasure he could give her”—Jennifer lost her balance. Bobby reached for her.

“Don’t!” she bit out, righting herself. “Don’t touch me, Bobby.” She glared at him, looking at him directly for the first time since she started dressing.

Before she knew what happened, he was there, pulling her hard against his body, powerful arms wrapping around her, his long legs entwining with hers. “I’m going to touch you, Jen. And kiss you and make love to you. I’m not asking permission either. I have less than two weeks to prove to you how much you mean to me, and I fully intend to succeed.”

Defiance rose inside her, the need to lash out, to find a way to protect herself. And running kept backfiring. “Of course you will,” she said, casting him a look from beneath her lashes, playing coy, her anger banked. “That’s why it’s called a fling. You please me. I please you. And then it’s over, and life goes on.”

His jaw set, his expression taut. His hands framed her face. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

She could feel herself shaking inside with the challenge, but she tilted her chin up, challenged him. “Believe it,” she said softly, her voice edged with a hint of steel she couldn’t quite suppress. “Because, you see, unlike you, I know when to say goodbye. I mean it when I do.”