WhatLiesBeneath Page 5

  She turned from where she’d been leaning over the chair’s flat work surface, his face level with the small of her back. Now he was nose-to-navel.

  “Did I miss something important?” Anticipation thrummed deep in his chest.

  “You asked why I came here, if it was my next adventure.” She ran her palms over his shoulders. Excitement glittered in her eyes. “I guess that’s up to you.”

  Chapter Nine

  If it was up to Amanda, Jericho would have shed his clothing the same time she did. Thanks to the unintentional voyeuristic experience that had triggered her lustful infatuation, she already knew what lay beneath his jeans and shirt. That knowledge, combined with spending two hours feeling his hands on her body, had her primed and ready for whatever happened next.

  There were moments when she felt like a vicarious onlooker, barely acquainted with the aggressive temptress propositioning a bad boy like Jericho for a no-strings fling. She had the confidence to try new things, which might account for the tattoo stinging her lower back, but the sex-with-a-stranger was only happening because she’d tapped into a new source of gumption—the need to be filled by Jericho’s thick cock, a need so desperately urgent there really wasn’t a choice to be made.

  Glad she wasn’t prone to self-analysis, which, in her opinion, was a waste of time and led to indecision, Amanda had stopped trying to figure out her mysterious attraction to Jericho and had moved on to trying to figure out how to make something happen with him. That she genuinely wanted a tattoo was just a lucky coincidence, a fortunate alignment of the fates that now found her on the verge of sharing her body, desires and vulnerabilities with Jericho Creegan.

  Physical longing merged with heady boldness, underscored by darker tones of absurdity. This was crazy. Wild. Incredible. And she couldn’t wait.

  Jericho’s hands tightened on her hips and she took it as assent. There was too much going on in her head and body for words so she relied on action. Without bothering to unbutton her blouse, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, then did the same with his T-shirt. When he stood up and rose over her, her body reacted to the magnificent display. A trickle of fluid coursed along the edge of her pussy, making her wet.

  In her fantasies, their initial coming together had been slow and languid. In reality, it was frantic and frenzied. Her breasts crushed against his chest in an embrace so tight it pinched her nipples. His fingers splayed across her back, gripping hard enough to leave handprints. Kisses bruised lips as they fought to taste and savor as deeply as possible.

  “Kiss” seemed far too weak a description for the open-mouth, tongue-sucking, lip-nibbling exchange. Within seconds they settled into a parry-and-thrust, advance-and-retreat rhythm. She ran the tip of her tongue over the roof of his mouth then swept it across his lips, only to have him capture it between his teeth. When the pressure eased just a bit, she tugged free, the sharp edges of his teeth abrading the soft surface of her tongue. They were, by turns, aggressor and submitter.

  When Jericho pulled back, chest heaving, she undid his fly. The zipper gave way beneath the heavy weight of his erection. Like magic, she held a gorgeous, hot-skinned penis as impressive in its virile masculinity as its master. Too thick to wrap a fist around and long enough to grip in both hands, it curved neither right nor left but jutted straight out from a bush of tight, dark curls. Amanda squeezed, tentatively at first, then more forcefully when she discovered how fiercely engorged it was. This evidence that Jericho shared her urgent arousal banished any lingering shred of modesty. Growling like a tigress in heat, she tugged at his jeans with one hand while struggling to remove her thong with the other. She keened in frustration when the denim caught on his boots.

  “Let me.” Hobbled at the knees, he gently shifted her aside, only to have her cry out when the edge of the chair struck the patch of skin still burning from the new tattoo.

  “No time,” she huffed, frustrated by pain and need. “Leave the damn things on. Can you raise the head and foot of this damn chair or table or whatever the hell it is?”

  She saw awareness flicker in his expression as he followed her thinking.

  “Good idea.”

  If juices weren’t dripping down the insides of her thighs and her clitoris didn’t feel swollen to five times its normal size, the situation might have been amusing. Jericho wobbled over to the side of the table and pressed buttons. The motorized command repositioned the chair in infinitesimal increments that eroded her patience. Running her hands over his solidly muscled backside, she finally lost it.

  “Good enough. Get up there. Now!”

  He boosted himself into the chair, propped his boot-and-denim-swathed feet at one end and leaned back against the other. She was right behind him, swinging a leg over his waist so she was on all fours above him, arms braced on either side of his head, knees aligned with his hips. Sweet relief made her pant. All she had to do was drop onto—

  He caught her in his palms before she could sink down onto him.

  “What are you doing?” She whimpered like a child who’d just reached for her favorite toy and had it snatched away.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. We were moving so fast I forgot the condom.”

  That he had the wherewithal to remember precautionary measures while sporting a hard-on that could support a three-ring circus tent impressed her. She had lost sight of everything except impaling herself on his tent pole and firing the cannon that would send her flying toward orgasm. However, she had given thought to the issue before arriving at the studio. “I have some in my purse.”

  When she moved to climb off, he held her in place. “No need. I think there are a few…right…here.” He reached down, opened a drawer, fumbled around, knocked some items to the floor and then held up a small foil square. “Let’s just hope they haven’t reached their expiration date.”

  The twinge of jealousy brought on by the thought he had sex so often that he stashed condoms around his shop fizzled. She couldn’t help her curiosity. “Been a while?”

  He paused in the process of sheathing himself to look her in the eye. “Yes. Months. If not longer.” His knuckles brushed the insides of her thighs and she shivered. “Why don’t you rectify that? We’re good to go now.”

  Finally.

  Jericho gripped the edge of the chair and waited, watching her face. Every nerve from her clit to deep inside her womb tingled. She eased onto his lap and the velvety crown of his erection nudged her labia apart. Despite his size, she was so wet that he slid inside her in one smooth motion. As she shifted to accommodate his girth, his lids dropped and his jaw knotted.

  When the crest of her pubic bone hit his, she gasped. The penetration was so far-reaching it seemed to have lanced her heart, the fullness so voluptuous that she did not have room for air in her lungs or thought in her head. The impact paralyzed her. Instinctively her body went still, the muscles stretching around Jericho’s cock while her mind absorbed the sense of completion seeping into every molecule of her being like honey spilled from a hive under the summer sun. Never before had the physical act of sexual intercourse rippled through her psyche like this.

  They fit together perfectly. Amanda settled into a doubly stimulating rhythm. His shaft nudged her G-spot. Sweet friction blossomed between her clitoris and his groin. Concentric rings of pleasure encircled her, creating a vortex that spiraled up and out from the juncture of their bodies. Release beckoned just beyond the edge of the maelstrom but she wanted to prolong the exquisite sensations. Although she’d come to Body of Art in hopes of seducing Jericho, part of her still couldn’t believe it was really happening.

  She shifted from back-and-forth rocking to grinding her hips in torturous circles. His eyes opened, signaling his awareness of the change that slowed the pacing but intensified the contact. Now that he was embedded inside her, the burning desperation had mellowed and she wanted to explore the nuances of their explosive chemistry.

  “Which do you like better? This”—she rose up and down—�
�or this?” She resumed the hip rotations.

  “They’re both nice but that thing you were doing…” Bracketing her hips in his hands, he tensed his buttocks to thrust farther into her while guiding her back and forth atop him.

  “That’s good.” She dropped her head, moaning and sighing as he directed their strokes into a steady cadence.

  “You are so hot and tight.” He ground out the words in a controlled whisper.

  She interpreted his restraint as a sign that he too was reining in forceful carnal urges. Some perverse part of her wanted to shatter that control. Rising off her arms, she arched backward to fondle his scrotum. She rolled his balls in her palm then lightly ran a finger over the stretch of skin behind them. He jerked, throwing off their rhythm.

  “Oh yeah.” His words rolled out on a sexy moan.

  She smiled, pleased to have shaken him.

  His eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, he caught a nipple between his teeth, lashing the rigid peak with his tongue. When she tried to pull away from the onslaught, he held firm. The challenge for control, coupled with the searing pleasure-pain, resulted in a double whammy of erotic excitement as Jericho toyed with her intellect and body.

  She bowed her head and murmured into his ear. “Bastard.”

  Her mother would have reached for the Dial soap upon hearing her daughter use such language, and it was uncharacteristic of Amanda to do so, but there were no limits, no boundaries, no rules when it came to Jericho. In the face of such ardent passion, monitoring what came out of her mouth seemed a waste of effort, especially when there were other amazing things to focus on. Things like the damp heat of his mouth and the invasive power of his cock.

  Nipple still ensnared between his teeth, he leaned against the upraised back of the chair and she capitulated, following along. She looped her arms around his head, trapping his face between her breasts. He nuzzled his whisker-roughened jaw over the stiff tips before sucking and nipping them until they were crimson.

  The escalation to climax was so sharp and steep that it took Amanda over the edge before she sensed the sheer vertical drop awaiting her. She cried out, clutching at Jericho to halt the dizzying free fall.

  When she tried to rise off him, laughter rumbled in his chest. “Oh no, you don’t. You started this, baby, and we’re going to finish it together.” His grip tightened, fingers pressing into her hips.

  He bucked like an untamed stallion, barely withdrawing before plunging upward again and again. Each thrust countered the throbbing of her clit, endlessly prolonging her orgasm. It was like riding the crest of a tsunami, trapped on the open ocean yet knowing at some point the wave would hit land, leaving everything in its path awash in chaos. She panicked, afraid of never regaining control, scared witless by her animalistic response—the helpless moaning and shuddering.

  “I can’t take any more. It’s too much.” Panting, she pleaded with him. As she became aware he was watching her, she tried to bury her head in his shoulder.

  “Stop fighting it,” he growled, somehow managing to pound even harder and deeper. “And don’t you dare be embarrassed. I could come just watching you.”

  They locked eyes, tethering themselves together as an earth-shattering orgasm propelled them to the far end of paradise.

  Chapter Ten

  Jericho stared at the screen of his cell phone, which read Amanda Fine 555-8934. He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled up her name in his list of contacts, only to clear the display and jam the device back into his back pocket.

  Since retrieving her phone number from the client roster Vix kept on her computer, the entry was more a formality than a necessity, since the digits were tattooed on his brain. He liked knowing her name would pop up if she decided to call so he would have a chance to cough away the amazement sure to choke him at such a miraculous event.

  It was creeping up on forty-eight hours since their encounter and he still didn’t know what to make of it. Once he’d drifted down from the heights of the most explosive orgasm he’d ever experienced, the aftermath had been an awkward tangle of unspoken “Holy hells!” and “What nows?” Unable to move for fear he’d embarrass himself by tripping over the jeans that shackled his ankles, he’d watched Amanda dress, unsure what to say or do. She pulled on her clothes so fast she barely grimaced when she pulled the waistband taut to secure the button, despite the fact it had pressed against her tattoo.

  Hot with scalding embarrassment, he sat there like an idiot. He tried reading her expression but the bright smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes. Still, once she was decent and had her purse slung over her shoulder, she’d come over to him, caressing his deflated cock—still in the condom, resembling a poorly filled sausage casing—while she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and whispered, “Thanks.”

  Thanks for the tat? Thanks for the fuck? Thanks for nothing?

  He wished he knew.

  Suddenly fed up with his wimpy indecision, no longer willing to wait and hope she might call, he grabbed his cell and punched in her number. Acid burned the back of his throat as his stomach churned nervously. Damn, he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say if she—

  “Hello?”

  The burbling in his gut changed from anxiety to excitement at the familiar sound of her voice but he still fumbled for words. “Is this, uh, Amanda? Fine?”

  “Yes. This is Amanda.” Something in her tone changed, as if she knew who was on the other end…and was happy to hear from him.

  “It’s Jericho. Creegan. From the tattoo studio. Body of Art?” He cringed, sure he sounded like a high school geek dialing up the head cheerleader.

  “I know who you are. And where you’re from.”

  He could almost see the amusement dappling her words, like vivid, lemony splashes of sunshine between tree branches filled with bright green leaves. Just like those dazzling patches of warmth, her humor eased the tension knotting his spine. He dropped into his swivel chair and rested a booted foot on the corner of his desk.

  “How is your tattoo healing? Any peeling or excessive scabbing?”

  “No. It looks great, from what I can see.” She chuckled, a sexy titter that woke up his dick.

  “I’d be happy to check it out for you.” He hoped his offer didn’t sound overly eager.

  “Is that all you’re willing to do for me?” Her tone dropped a notch, raising the sense of intimacy.

  “What would you like me to do for you?” He let a beat pass before adding, “Or is that to you?”

  “So you don’t have any regrets about what happened?”

  The sound of her breath catching in her throat reached him over the phone. Adrenaline, lust and endorphins flooded his veins until he felt like a gigantic human erection. Even his eyeballs were throbbing. The tentative way she asked triggered a counter rhythm as his heartbeat sped up. It sounded as if Amanda cared about what he thought of her. His chest tightened with tenderness then surprise. Sure, it was natural to be concerned about the opinions of others, but he cared that she cared.

  A lot.

  Okay, if he was honest, more than a lot.

  “My only regret is coming with my boots on. That, and not telling you how great it was.”

  “Mmm.”

  Her tiny moan made him imagine a dark-chocolate, raspberry truffle melting on her tongue. Would she feel the same if it was his cock filling her mouth? He had to know. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  She muttered something under her breath he couldn’t make out.

  “No. Unfortunately, I already have plans.”

  The way she said it made Jericho think of the guy he’d seen her go into the restaurant with, and again he wondered what had brought her into his studio. Nothing like a cold dash of doubt to ruin a perfectly good hard-on.

  “Look, if you’re seeing someone else—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” She rushed to intercept his objection. “I have a huge project going on at work. I’m sort of…committed. Could we do something
next week?”

  Her offer failed to restore his enthusiasm. Something about her statement seemed evasive but he wanted to see her too badly to pay attention to the uncertainty nagging at him. “Sure. How about dinner on Friday?”

  “That sounds great.” Her voice had gone husky again.

  “Give me your address and I’ll pick you up.”

  He almost missed the pause before she suggested meeting at his studio. He agreed but something about her behavior bothered him. They said goodbye, and as Jericho waited for Amanda’s name and number to fade from the phone’s display, his spirits and erection took a nosedive to the floor.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amanda, Will and Professor Mueller stood outside the Benbine English department building in a muted yellow glow. Low-lying fog diffused the illumination provided by the streetlamps along the campus walkway and muffled the sound of traffic from a nearby thoroughfare.

  “You kids seem to have everything under control,” the older man said, cinching the belt of his overcoat. “I was worried the schedule change would throw our plans into disarray.”

  The fond look Will directed at her made Amanda squirm. Afraid of ruining their working relationship or upsetting the professor, she still hadn’t figured out how to tell Will she couldn’t continue dating him.

  In the three weeks since he had officially asked her out, they’d seen each other daily. When they weren’t working on the Abbess manuscripts, which had arrived a week earlier, they explored San Francisco.

  During their walking tour of the Sausalito houseboats, she learned of his interest in architecture and carpentry. On the boat ride to Alcatraz, she’d endured the late-October chill to sit with him on the open-air deck where he was less inclined to become seasick. They rode a vintage carousel in Golden Gate Park and ate clam chowder in crisp sourdough bowls at Fisherman’s Wharf. When Will invited her to help him shop for a dinner party he was hosting for their coworkers, she discovered he was on a first-name basis with a Chinatown grocer whose produce and seafood Will transformed into an authentic Cantonese meal.