Light Her Fire (Private Pleasures 2)

Her fingers traced the B on the front of her cheerleading top. If she was pregnant—and the “if” seemed unlikely—by this time next week things would be very different between them. There might not even be a “them,” and this particular scenario might be off the table for a long time…possibly the rest of her life. Impulse took control of her tongue. “I have a better idea. Meet me behind the bleachers at the high school in twenty minutes.”

She could tell him after.

…

Josh had never run across a football field with a hard-on before, and now he knew why. The pounding in his dick intensified with every step. He rounded the bleachers convinced the inventor of the zipper was a sadist.

Then he saw her and stopped short. Melody leaned against a bleacher support post, arms behind her back, one leg bent at the knee and a white-sneakered foot propped on the metal pole. Her snug, sleeveless Bluelick Buffalos vest adhered to every curve, and a matching short blue-and-white pleated skirt skimmed the tops of her thighs. A gym bag sat on the ground a few feet away.

“Hello, Chief.”

“Hello, Bluelick.” He closed the distance between them. “Nice outfit.”

She smiled. “I hoped you’d like it. I used to wear it all the time, but we didn’t know each other back then…”

“Damn shame.”

“Probably for the best. My parents wouldn’t have approved of you. Not the way you’re looking at me right now.”

He moved closer and picked up a scent coming off her—something sweet and bubble-gummy and instantly evocative of high school. Shit, she’d gone all out. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you want to pop my cherry.”

“If I’d known you in high school, seen you walking the halls on game days in that little sweater and skirt, I would have been obsessed with popping your cherry.”

She lowered her foot and toed the ground coyly, looked up, and gave him a nervous giggle. “I might have been tempted to let you, but all your intensity probably would have scared me away. A girl can be a little skittish when it’s her first time.”

He braced a hand over her head on the bleacher support and leaned in…oh yeah, bubble gum lip gloss and a powdery perfume he could almost picture occupying the cluttered top shelf of a pink-decorated locker. “I’d have sweet-talked you until you gave it up to me.”

She tipped her head back so her lips came close to his. “You don’t have any sweet talk in you.”

“I’d have found some for you. Told you how pretty you are.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “How I sit behind you in algebra and imagine what this hair would feel like sliding over my skin. Or how some afternoons when I’m supposed to be in the weight room working out, I sneak over to the window and take in your cheer practices, because I love to watch your br—anatomy bounce around in this sweater.” He eased a hand up her side, closing in on the anatomy in question.

She batted his hand away. “I would have been turned on, and not really sure what was happening inside me, but I would have been too aware of my reputation to stand here and let you touch my goodies.”

“That’s when I would have done this.” He lifted her chin a notch and brought his lips down on hers, gently at first, with no tongue, as if she really were a nervous virgin. Damn if the sweetness of the kiss didn’t tighten his chest. Suddenly, he wished they had been teenagers together, that they’d taken their first fumbling steps into sex with each other. But no, the privilege had gone to Roger. Good thing, a rational part of his mind pointed out, considering without the Roger detour in her life, she’d probably be married with kids by now. An image of her pushing a stroller down Main Street next to some guy his imagination refused to fill in clearly formed in his mind, and a shock of something dangerously close to jealousy shot through him. Against her mouth he said, “I should bend you over a bleacher and spank you for reminding me I wasn’t your first.”

Her laugh vibrated against his lips. She drew back an inch, her expression full of mock horror. “That definitely would have scared me off. Remember”—she clasped her hands at the back of his neck and snugged her breasts against his chest in a kittenish gesture—“I’m only sixteen, and I’ve been a very good girl. You need to be on your best behavior if you expect to get to first base.”

“Bluelick, I’ll have you begging me to take you all the way home.”

She parted her lips to respond, but he cupped the back of her head and brought his mouth down on hers again. This time he took advantage, swept his tongue past her lips, supported her neck while he tipped her head back to an angle of complete surrender, and unleashed the kind of long, deep, persuasive kiss he hadn’t resorted to since he’d been a teen. The kind of all-out kiss a guy used when the good girl on the receiving end might actually draw the line at necking.

The good girl on the receiving end of this one tightened her grip on his neck and made a mewling sound in the back of her throat. He sent his free hand under her sweater, up her back, and discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. He brought his hand around front and touched her breast.

She moaned and arched into him. He lifted his head and waited until her eyes opened and focused on him. “First base.”

“So right now I’d be freaking out because I’ve never let a guy get to first base before, and I didn’t know it would make me so excited, and…wet.”

The hushed words made him groan and he reached for the hem of her skirt to check for himself. She caught his wrist and shook her head. “We can’t. I have to be home by curfew or I’ll be in big trouble.”

Holy shit, this game was going to kill him. His cock throbbed so hard he could barely think. “I’ll drive you home in time.” He kissed his way down her throat. “You won’t get in trouble.”

Her hands speared into his hair. Her head dropped back. “Are you sure?”

“I promise.” With that, he eased her sweater up and bared her breasts. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”