Melt For Him Page 11

  The feel of his hard-on was almost enough to cloud her brain and make her toss her paints and makeup and camera somewhere behind her, letting them fall amid the crisp leaves and fallen twigs. To say: fuck me now, please. Fuck me now and put us both out of our misery. Bring us both to the edge, and then shove me over the cliff into ecstasy.

  Just the thought of what his hard length could do to her threatened to annihilate all her self-control. Because whatever she had left was draining away as the throbbing between her legs increased. She was so close she could rub against him. She could press the damp triangle of her white thong underwear against his pants and probably get herself off just from the friction.

  But she had a job to do, and she needed to do it well, so she could move on to Portland and begin her dream job. She rubbed her hands across his steely frame, smudging the body paint until it at last looked a bit like the remnants of smoke, like a brave man had beaten back raging flames. Protected the forest, protected the people, protected the whole damn town and emerged unscathed, with just the dust and dirt sticking to his sweaty, hot chest.

  Tension roiled between them like an electrical wire as she worked. The tightness in his body was a magnet. She breathed deeply, holding in all her desires, all her instincts to press her body against his. When she finished, she scooted back, held up her charcoal-smudged hands, and pronounced, “Done.”

  “Your hands are dirty,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “Very dirty,” she murmured, and she wasn’t talking about her hands anymore.

  His eyes strayed to the T-shirt he’d tossed to the ground. “Can you grab my shirt?”

  “Yes,” she said and twisted down to reach for his T-shirt. She handed it to him.

  He took the fabric and used it as a cloth to wipe the paint off her hands. “Now, I’m going to need you to remember this position. Can you do that for me?” he asked in a commanding tone that thrummed through her body.

  “Yes.”

  He tipped his forehead to the water.

  “This is the real money shot now. Because when you take a picture of me, I am going to have so much fucking lust in my eyes from how much I want you right now.”

  Hot desire pulsed through her blood from his words. She wanted him, too. Desperately. Her body was molten, her skin sizzling from head to toe. She shifted off of him, readjusting her skirt. He rose and walked to the water, lapping the rocks on the bank of the riverbed. She reached into her camera bag, slung her Nikon over her neck, and headed for the water.

  She brought the viewfinder to her eye and felt a bit like a proud film director. The shot was perfect. The setting, the wooded trees, the morning light. But most of all—him. The desire in his eyes was tangible. Even in the bulky, heavy turnouts, she could make out the shape of his hard length. The pants were thick enough that the shot wasn’t too dirty, but he was still visible enough that he was perfect fodder—he was the firefighter every woman fantasized about.

  That was the trouble. He made her feel too good, and it wasn’t a fantasy; it was all too real. More real than she ever expected. She should draw some lines in the sand with him and make a strong pact to behave. But she didn’t want him to keep his hands off her. She wanted his hands, his head, his heart.

  After she finished shooting, she peered through the LCD screen to confirm she had enough shots. Then she heard him walking to her, and his nearness stirred her blood.

  “Put the camera down, Megan,” he said.

  Surprised by his command, she glanced up, the camera still in her grip. His eyes were full of dark craving, rimmed with black around the pupils. He didn’t stop looking at her, nor did he break the hold he had on her as he spoke again in a low and husky voice.

  “You have ten seconds to put down the camera and get back into the same position I asked you to remember.”

  All the air whooshed out of her lungs from the dominating way he talked to her, leaving her no choice but to return to the rock. He sat down and pulled her onto him. She swallowed, her throat dry as he stared at her as if he wanted to consume her.

  “Now touch yourself.”

  She exhaled hotly, overcome with desire. Her entire being had been reduced to the aching between her legs. Even so, she managed a weak protest. “I thought we agreed…”

  “I don’t care what we agreed to. I can’t fight this anymore, and I can’t pretend I don’t want you in every way. You are under my skin, and in my head, and even if there are one million reasons or just one reason not to touch you, I can’t find it in me right now to resist.”

  “I can’t either,” she said, and the admission was a huge relief. The tension was too much to bear. She was a cog wound too tight in danger of snapping. She’d rather bend. With him.

  “Torture me, Megan, with your sexy sounds,” he growled. “I want to watch you and see the look on your face when you’re close to breaking. I want to hear those sounds you make when you’re losing control,” he said, and she trembled from his words. “Do you want to come right now as much as I want to watch you?”

  “More than anything.”

  Dipping his hands under her skirt, he hiked it up to her waist, exposing her to him with only the thin triangle between her legs covering her. His fingers slid inside her panties, and she moaned so loudly she was sure the birds would start talking back to her, joining her in a chorus of cries. He pushed the fabric to the side. Then he held on to her hips, leaving the work up to Megan.

  “Now, it’s your turn.”

  She brought her fingers between her legs. She traced her own wetness, rubbing the slickness across her core, his eyes growing hungrier as he watched her. Her fingers stroked up and down, slowly at first, but then she started to quicken her pace. She arched her back, and at the same time, he used one hand to push up her shirt above her breasts. He unhooked her bra in seconds, and one big hand cupped a breast, kneading and massaging as she rubbed.

  “Now bring some right here,” he instructed, squeezing the tight peak of her nipple. She gave him a strange look. “You painted me. Now paint yourself and let me taste it.”

  A shock wave of pleasure rocked her at the request. Her face grew hotter, her need for him more intense. She dipped her index finger between her legs and then circled it around one breast.

  He growled as he leaned into her, sucking her own juices from her hard nipple. She cried out at the sensation, then he pulled back just as quickly, trailing a strong, calloused finger from her sternum to her belly. “Now here. Paint yourself here.”

  She nodded quickly, wanting to keep touching herself, to rub faster and harder, to spread her legs and cry out. But she resisted, instead following his artistic direction to spread the evidence of her desire in a line from her belly to her breasts. Then he dived in for another long, lingering slide of his tongue across her skin.

  “You’re killing me.”

  He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, rubbing his jaw against her shoulder and finding her ear so he could whisper, “Paint yourself. One more time. For me.”

  “Where?” she said in a ragged breath, unsure where her voice was even coming from anymore. How she was forming words. Maybe she was powered solely by want.

  “Here.” He drew a line from her neck to the hollow of her throat.

  She slid her fingers back between her legs where she was so wet now she could probably have painted her entire body for him. She did as asked, and then shuddered at the feel of his tongue retracing the same path. He moaned deeply as he tasted her, murmuring, “So good. So fucking good.” Then his lips brushed the hollow of her throat, a soft kiss, but full of heat as he sucked the last remaining traces.

  “Now show me how you fuck yourself.”

  Tension swelled inside her. Her hand returned to between her legs, and she expertly moved her fingers as he held on to her hips, letting her lean back and let go.

  “Come for me, Megan. Let me watch you get off.”

  His words drove her on, and soon she felt her belly tighten, once, twice
, three times, and her legs were shaking, and a massive wave slammed into her as he pushed her long hair away from her face and breathed into her neck. “Come for me on your hand.”

  That did it. She shattered, blinding waves of pleasure flooding her body, her bones, and her skin. Every part of her was alive and pulsing, from a runaway orgasm that didn’t stop. It sped through, spilling into every corner of her body, until finally she could open her eyes and look at Becker. His lips were parted and he grasped her wrist, bringing her fingers to his mouth, sucking off the taste of her until he’d licked every last drop. His dark eyes were heated, and hungry, as if he’d never consumed anything he wanted this much before.

  When she finally started to come down from the high, she didn’t know what to say, how to act. But he did.

  “We need to go. If we stay here any longer, I will tear your clothes off, and the last thing I want is for you to return home naked.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The house wasn’t far from the river. They were both quiet as they slid into his truck, shut the doors, and cruised away from the hiking trails, heading onto the curvy road that led back into Hidden Oaks. The silence was thick, clinging to them like a fine film of dust. They both knew it was time to talk. It was a moment for manning up. A heady kiss in the woods after one night together could be written off as a onetime relapse. Even a few naughty texts were nothing to get all riled up about.

  However, what happened today had to be addressed. He’d let it go too far. He’d been driven solely by his desire for her, abandoning all sense of right and wrong. And in so doing, they’d reached a crossroads. He didn’t know where they were going or where he wanted to go. But he knew this—neither one of them seemed to have a wink of interest in stopping.

  He was about to speak when she went first.

  “I’d like to say that we can’t keep doing this, but I think we’ve established we are doing this,” she offered, and her tone was both serious and wry. A clear-cut acknowledgment of what was transpiring between them.

  Becker kept his eyes on the road. He wished they weren’t in agreement. He wished they weren’t so in sync. He wished he could give her everything she deserved. He wished he’d never met her. Except, he didn’t wish that at all. “Saying we should stop is pointless, since we won’t? Or we can’t?”

  “Both. It seems we’re still on plan A. We’re doing what we planned to do after we first slept together.”

  “And then what we said we weren’t going to do,” he added. “Plan B.”

  “Exactly. But we’re not following the new plan.”

  “Which means all we’re doing is skirting the line. Saying we’re not getting involved, then doing it anyway.”

  “Right,” she said, raising her voice in emphasis. “We agreed not to do anything else. That it was a onetime thing. And we just can’t keep—” She stopped to shake her head in amusement. “Jesus. Look at us. A grown man and woman and we’re running off to the goddamn woods to make out.”

  He chuckled at the way she’d put it. Perfectly. “And then you can’t keep your hands off me in the woods. Even though you left me blue-balled,” he added, and she laughed deeply at his take on events, since he’d chosen to walk away before it went further. “But I don’t care because I like knowing you enjoyed yourself,” he said, placing one hand on her bare thigh and running his rough fingers across her smooth skin. She shivered lightly from his touch.

  Sure, he was left hanging sexually, but it didn’t matter. Being with her soothed him. Her laughter, her forthright nature, her stories from the mud pies to the owl that watched over her, banished the constant rattle and hum in his head. They were gone in the way she knew his favorite cereal, they were gone in the way she asked him why he became a firefighter, and they were gone in the way she couldn’t mask herself with him. She’d tried that first night, tried so damn hard to only reveal so much. But the more time he spent with her, the more she shared. And today, it had simply been how much she wanted him.

  As much as he wanted her.

  She turned to him with narrowed eyes that hinted of laughter. Then seriousness. “No, Becker. I can’t keep my hands off you. And that’s the problem. Let’s be grown-ups and figure out what we’re doing, even if I’m only here for another week.”

  The thought flashed by—what if they went back to plan A? Made a go of things for the week or so while she was here? Would that really hurt his friendship with Travis? Their relationship had an expiration date, so how could they hurt each other? He could surely convince Travis that a few days was nothing to worry about. Right? While he could sneak around with Megan for the rest of her brief stay, Travis none the wiser, Becker wasn’t that kind of guy. He wasn’t going to pursue even a casual fling without being on the up-and-up with his buddy. To do anything less would be wrong.

  “I agree. So why don’t I talk to Travis—”

  But the rest of the words were cut off when they turned the corner and spotted Travis in the driveway of their mom’s house. Becker’s chest constricted at the sight of his friend leaning against the hood of his Jeep. He had to strip himself of all emotions, all feelings, anything that would reveal what he’d done or how he felt about his buddy’s little sister.

  Megan shot him a quick, nervous look.

  “Let’s pick this up later and figure things out, okay?” he said, and she nodded as they pulled into the driveway. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  Right now it was time to shut the hell up, and the fact that he was lying to his buddy was like swallowing a stone, and about as uncomfortable. He hoped to hell his feelings weren’t written on his face, but he was practiced in stoicism. Was Megan a good actor too, though? Another wave of self-loathing rolled through him for even wishing she could pull off a poker face. He cut the engine, and they hopped out of his truck. Music played from the Jeep’s radio. Travis was singing along, tapping out the rhythm with his hands on the hood of the car.

  “Where were you guys? Hard at work shooting the calendar?” he asked, and the tension flared again inside Becker. The question was a slingshot back to reality. This was his job—to look out for his guys. To take care of his men. To set a fucking example. Not to sneak around with his friend’s sister. Didn’t matter if this was temporary with Megan.

  Travis was like a brother to him. He was his family, in a way, here in Hidden Oaks, and a damn important part of why this town had started to feel like a new home to him. Because of people like Travis and all the guys he worked with. He’d toyed with giving up the work after the fire in Chicago, but he hadn’t been able to walk away from the firehouse. His future was set in stone from the moment his brother broke his arm when they were kids. He was a fireman and that wasn’t changing. That meant he could never give Megan what she deserved. The promise of coming home.

  But they could have this much—the rest of her time here. They both wanted more; they should make the most of the short time, like a vacation on a beautiful island, where you soak up the sun every second of the day. He had to do this right and man up. Come clean with Travis. But before he did that, he needed to finish his conversation with Megan and now was clearly not the time.

  “Just shooting my close-up. It’s better than yours,” Becker said, segueing into their familiar ribbing. Anything to cover up the way he was feeling about Travis’s sister. Becker sneaked a glance at Megan, and her features were tight, her jaw set.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m going down to Monterey later for an executive game. I came over to fix the oil gauge on your bike. Told you I would. You already forgot?”

  “Oh, right. Thank you,” she said to her brother with relief in her voice. “I definitely need you to fix that. And then I have to go help at the bookstore later today.”

  “Let’s get cracking, then,” Travis said, patting the seat of her motorcycle.

  That heavy knot loosened as he watched them. Megan could take care of herself. She was strong and independent, and had a family who
loved her and looked out for her. She didn’t need him to be anything more than the here and now, and that was fine by him. For now, he could lose himself in the work tonight at the bar, and let the Panting Dog do its job occupying front and center in his brain. Then he’d talk to Travis and show him his cards.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Megan tossed a tennis ball across the small backyard and the puppy scampered across the grass in hot pursuit. Megan had stopped by Jamie’s on the way to the bookstore. She had contemplated telling her all about Becker the morning after their first night, but once Megan knew who he was, there was no need.

  Now there was a definite need, a huge, gaping need, so she’d come over and confessed everything, from the first night they spent together, to Travis’s concerns, to the river.

  “Good boy!” Jamie shouted, cheering the pup. “Bring it back.”

  Chance tore across the lawn, arriving in front of Jamie. “Now drop,” she told him and he obeyed, depositing the ball at his mistress’s feet.

  “He’s a quick learner,” Megan observed, as Jamie tossed another ball.

  Jamie winked and snapped her fingers. “I like to keep my men in line.”

  “Ha. No problem on that with Smith. He’s crazy about you.”

  “The feeling is one hundred percent mutual,” Jamie said and smiled so wide that Megan figured a family of four could drift out to sea on that smile. Jamie and Smith were so ridiculously in love that Megan could hardly believe there was ever a time when they were unsure about each other. “But enough about me. What are we going to do about you and my boss? And can I just say I still can’t believe you hooked up with him! With my boss.”

  She shot Jamie a narrow look. “I hardly think him being your boss is the issue here. It’s sort of the other thing he is.”