The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

One side of his mouth curled up, but with something a lot more intense than humor. “Sweet boy?” he asked, his brown eyes going dark with desire, his free arm extended over her shoulder with his hand pressed firm against the door. “Are you taunting or flirting?”

“Is it working?” she brazened.

Another step and there was nothing between them but too many layers of clothes. “Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?” What should have been a cool retort came out breathy.

“Of course it does.” He traced a single finger down the side of her face and along her jaw, leaving a line of fire in its wake. “Taunting is just for show. Flirting is for results.”

“What kind of results?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

He glided his finger across the seam of her slightly parted lips, so butterfly soft that it was almost cruel. “The kind where you end up naked, sweaty, and satisfied. What will you be doing with Tyler?” His hand fell from her mouth and the gruff edge to his voice turned demanding and hard. “Do you plan on taunting or flirting?”

Tyler? Who in the hell was Tyler? She fought to pull back from the edge of the abyss and succeeded enough to sorta remember the only goal left she had left to accomplish on her before-I-turn-thirty list.

“Flirting,” she said, her voice sounding small and far away.

He growled low in his throat and dipped his head lower. “Then you should practice.”

“On you?” It came out more of a plea than a question, but she was too far gone into the moment to care.

“Or under, your choice.”

“I thought flirting was verbal,” she said, the words slipping out powered by nerves and an electric anticipation.

He was so close that heat from his body seeped into hers, scattering every last survival instinct she had. Still, he didn’t cross that final inch separating their mouths. She wanted to scream. She wanted to plea. She wanted to do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t end.

“Matches,” he said, the nickname a whispered promise against her lips. “You have a lot to learn.”

Then his mouth crashed down onto hers, and her last thought before her body’s reactions drowned out everything else but Hudson was that she had never been more glad that she’d always been an excellent student.

…

This is exactly what Hudson had been thinking about during every mile of the trip back to Harbor City. Felicia’s soft, full lips parting under his as she made that sweet, little moan that went straight to his dick. Fuck. Kissing her was beyond good. Her lips parted beneath his, and he slid his tongue inside, tasting and teasing her into response—and did she respond. Licks. Nibbles. Her hands skimming over his chest. Felicia pressed close to him, her arms going around his neck as she drew herself up on her tiptoes, making her body glide across his hard cock until it nestled against her belly. Being this close to her, with her clinging to him like he was the last solid thing in a shifting world, felt good, but it sure as hell wasn’t where he wanted his dick right now.

He broke the kiss, his prick shouting in protest as he did so. “We need to get inside.”

“Why?” she asked, looking up at him with lust-fogged eyes.

“Because if we don’t. I’m going to fuck you against your front door while half of Harbor City walks by.” With anyone else it would have been an idol threat, but not with Felicia. If she’d been wearing one of the dresses in the damn bag he was holding instead of jeans, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t have it pulled up to her hips already.

Her eyes widened, but she turned and opened the door. Honeypot rushed forward, but they hurried inside, and he slammed the door shut before the beast could escape. The last thing he wanted was to chase a one-eyed cat down the street with his dick as hard as an iron spike. Honeypot took one look at them, lifted her tail in disgust, and stalked over to her spot on the windowsill to hiss at the people walking by.

He locked both deadbolts while Felicia watched, still clutching her keys in her hand. Nervous energy and jittery sexual frustration surrounded her like steam—any minute now she was going to blow.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, not moving an inch toward the kitchen. “Did you know honeypot ants gorge themselves on desert flowers for the sugary nectar during the rainy seasons?”

Refusing to let his mind go there when he had other—sexier—things to consider rather than the eating habits of ants, he held out the garment bag to her. “Go try on a dress.”

She blinked. “You want a fashion show?”

No, he wanted to bend her over that blue chair, yank down her pants, shove her panties aside, and drive his dick into her until she came so hard she milked his cock dry, but that wasn’t going to happen—at least not yet. This was still a lesson, and what better way to show the value of driving someone to the edge of sanity with lust than to actually experience it.

“One dress.”

“I thought you wanted…” Her words trailed off as she scrunched up her nose and started trying to work through what she must see as an illogical construct.

Not giving himself time to change his mind, he unzipped the garment bag and pulled out a dress, not bothering to look at it. “Go change.”