“Scared?” Dusty questioned when she remained motionless, silent.
To death.
It was ridiculous to fear him, but the damn man had thrown her for a loop. First by seeing past her bigmouthed and carefree charade to her cynicism. Then with the reality of his upbringing.
She’d imagined his childhood ideal, something to dislike him for all the more. In reality, it sounded like it had been less desirable than her own. Her mother might be an absentee flake whose greatest concern was what man she would do next, but at least Liz had had her father and Colin, misguided though their good intentions were at times. Outside of the letters Colin had exchanged with Dusty following a chance meeting when Colin had spent several weeks at a Texas ranch camp, Dusty had had only his brothers to share his youth with. Who knew if they’d even gotten along?
Damnit, she would not feel sorry for him. What he’d endured as a kid didn’t change the arrogant dickhead he’d turned into as a man.
“You know me so well,” she managed sarcastically.
He smiled in the way that drew out the sharp angles of his jawline beneath the day’s growth of sandy-blond stubble, and her heart stuttered. “Maybe not everything, but I’d like to think I know a thing or two. Like how wet you are right now, wondering what my next move will be. I want to show you my favorite cream, Elizabeth. I want to show you exactly how much I enjoy tonguing you, making you squirm in my hands, making you come so hard, you can’t help but scream. Just say the words. Tell me you want it.”
Jesus. Liz trembled with the thought of how incredible his tongue felt pushing inside her body, licking at her with slow, firm, masterful strokes. How close he’d brought her to climax twice now.
Only a woman with the IQ of a stick of Juicy Fruit would be stupid enough to break her vow not to give in to him. After all, they were in a public place again. A place where anyone could walk in on them. Then there was the fact that she’d already given him to Kristi. Of course, in the name of orgasm and the Operation G-Spot creed, Kristi would forgive her. And, really, it was too late for anyone to be coming around. Even if someone did pass by, the door was locked. It seemed Dusty knew who he was with, too, since he was calling her by her ridiculously sweet full name.
Only her name didn’t sound sweet rolling off his tongue. It sounded sexy. Sensual. It made her feel feminine in a way she’d never imagined possible.
Fiona and Kristi might be nutso for telling her to give Dusty another try, but maybe they were also right. So long as she was maybeing, maybe her intelligence level wasn’t so far off from that stick of gum because she was seriously considering this.
A little lick couldn’t hurt anything, right?
Denying further thought, Liz brought her tongue out slowly, wetting her dry lips before flicking the tip of her tongue across his finger. “Oooh…” He was sooo right. They did do great things together. The whipped cream was heavenly. She lapped at his finger, eagerly savoring the sweet, light, velvety taste. She moaned her delight.
“More?”
Hearing the strained sound of his voice, she met his eyes. They burned dark with lust, hunger, and, most importantly, stark reality. He wanted her. She wanted him. One night would be okay. One quick screw to get her off and get him out of her life.
He could pretend he’d come here for cooking lessons, but the truth was clear. He’d come here because he’d yet to give her an orgasm, and his ego couldn’t handle that fact; it wouldn’t be able to let go and move on until he proved he knew where her G-spot lived and exactly how it wanted to be stroked. He’d come here because the cooking class was one of the few places she wouldn’t make a scene, where she would be forced to listen to him, be forced to wiggle her way around his finger and want every little thing he hinted at. His finger that she could go on licking for days…
The whipped cream was gone, and it was skin she tasted. Hot, potent, virile male skin.
“It’s good.” Liz licked her tongue across the tip of his finger and sighed. “Damned good.” She traveled her tongue up his finger, knuckle to knuckle, and then turned her mouth on his hand, nibbling along the soft web of flesh between finger and thumb.
Warm. Salty. So incredibly masculine.
Dusty grunted and she released his hand to again meet his eyes. Heat rolled through her with the raw desire burning there, turning his eyes to the darkest of chocolates and cascading a rush of wet warmth from her pussy.
If she hadn’t worn panties tonight, she would be dripping all over the classroom floor. Instead she would be dripping all over his hard cock, in approximately three seconds.
Christ, the way this man affected her. The other night he’d had her totally forgetting time and place. And now, now he had her so impatient to get them both naked and panting, for the first time in her life she wished she hadn’t made a hobby out of snacking on her fingernails—long ones would seriously come in handy when it came to shredding the clothes from his fine-ass body.
Speaking of fine asses…
“You were right—as good as that cream is, it’s still only second best. I’d rather have the first.” Liz flung herself at Dusty, ready to grab hold of his buttocks while she attacked his mouth, devoured his kiss, stripped away his clothes until only sun-bronzed skin kept her from all that first-class muscle and sinew.
Her hands skimmed the worn cotton of his black T-shirt en route to his delectable behind. Before they could go any farther, she found her hands pushed away from him and pressed up against the refrigerator door along with the rest of her overheated body.
Holding her wrists above her head in one hand, Dusty brought his free hand to her face. He tilted her chin up and teased a warm, damp kiss at the corner of her lips. “You don’t say,” he taunted, rocking up against her, pressing his dick against her swollen sex, making her ache in a way that couldn’t be legal.
“Never second-guess me, Marr. Especially when you’re getting what you want. I’m liable to take it away, and we both know how you naughty little boys cry when that happens.”
His cocky smirk said what they were both thinking: She could never escape his viselike grip. However twisted it might be, she found herself glad for that fact in a way she would never admit to him. Her happiness shot up a level as he tugged the apron from her body with a quick jerk. That happiness flowed over into the serious jubilant range as his hand fisted in the waist of her T-shirt and yanked.
The sound of ripping cotton filled Liz’s ears and spiked her heart rate. Her pussy thrummed as the torn shirt fell to the ground. Dusty’s attention dropped to her breasts, half-concealed by a black bra. He had the bra off in the instant it took to pop the front clasp, and he sent the lacy garment sailing. For all she knew, her bra had landed on the range top. If the range was hot from the oven beneath, the lace could catch fire. And wouldn’t burning down the building impress the cooking class’s instructor? And wasn’t her messed-up mind totally attempting to take over?
Cool whipped cream fingered onto her erect nipples had Liz gasping back into the moment. Dusty’s mouth came down, latching onto her swollen tit and sucking at the aching crown. The heat of his mouth quickly replaced the chill of the cream. The grip on her wrists intensified. His sucking turned to tender bites that had liquid longing pumping through her veins and jetting to her core. That longing only grew as the coarse hair of his goatee abraded a nipple.
Her hips shot forward, connecting her weeping sex with the hard ridge of his cock. Brushing her nipple with his goatee a second time, he pumped his hips back toward her, pushing his shaft harder against her pussy, applying pressure at just the right angle to bring her clit to hot, hungry life.
Holy shit! Her clit was hungry.
Now there was something she’d never experienced before. Another brush of his goatee. Another pump of his hips. Her clit went from hungry to famished, tingling with its urgent want. Her sex grew heavy, unbearably moist. So damned needy. She whimpered against