Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration (26 page)

“Good?”

She lunged forward to bite his lip in reply. He nipped her back, then sucked her lower lip into his hot mouth.

His fingers plunged in and out, curling at the tips with wicked, quick presses and long, slow sweeps, then slipping out again, wet with her juices, to sink in and start all over. He slid one finger out of her, and rather than leave it curled beneath her slippery folds, he slid it just inside her buttocks and pressed with the slightest pressure.
   

Her head jerked backwards at the sensation of his wide, hot, wet finger pressing against her anus.
 
It was astonishingly, terrifyingly erotic.
 

“Johnny,” she panted.
 
She wasn’t consciously saying words anymore. Her brain barely functioned anymore.
 

He nudged it forward, a pushing pressure, just shy of pushing into her.
 

The arm she had flung around his shoulders tightened, holding on.
 
Her hips kept moving, though, even as she whispered, “Fuck, Johnny, no.”
 

His mouth was by her ear, hot and demanding. “Yes.”
 
Her bottom spread like butter under his touch and he nudged that demon finger up further, pressing right up against her.

“Oh, oh, oh, no,” it was a whimpered cry. She didn’t know what she was saying, except that if he stopped, she would die.
 
Her head was back, her eyes closed, her teeth biting down on her lip, and her hips pumping on his wrist, the rest of her body rocking on his powerful arm.
 

“You look good,” he rasped, his voice unsteady. “Does it feel good?
 
Do you want to come on my hand, Juliette?”

“Oh, God, oh please,” she whispered, her mouth open in a pant.
 
It was building in a long, slow, thundering wash, hot and barreling down on her.
 
His first two, long fingers slid deeper into her pulsing heat, that wicked, rebel finger pressed between her buttocks, penetrating wetly in a thick, insistent pressure.
   

“Do you want it, babe?” he rumbled by her ear. His finger hovered, thick between her cheeks, hot and waiting.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Her hips rocked forward and he gave a small push of pressure, nudging into the tight space. Then he bent his knees slightly and pushed his finger in, spreading her open.

She gave a tiny, barely gasped scream, a hard, hot, tight sound.
 
She felt held in a vice of pleasure and pain, every touch of him bringing more of everything

Their eyes met, she arched her back and closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for him to do it again, so she could scream from the pleasure.

“Scared?” he whispered.

“No,” she exhaled.
 

He gave a low, ragged laugh, and gave another slow, so slow, push, deeper in.
 
Thick and slippery, his finger spread her open, dark, dangerous pleasure.

Her body ricocheted.
 
She made a whispered scream and stamped her foot, her head spinning.
 
Her hips moved of their own accord, and he growled a dark curse and took it as an invitation: his finger went in deeper, spread her further.
 

Hard shudders of pleasure went through her.
 

“I felt that,” he said hoarsely. “I felt that,” he said hoarsely.
 

It was so incredibly scary and good, she was close to terrified. It was an out of body experience.
 

“Do you like it, Juliette?” he asked in his dangerous rasp.

“Oh God, Johnny.”
 

“Tell me you like it.”

“I like it.” It was barely words, just gasped air.

“You want it.”

“I want it.”

He made a guttural sound. “One day I’m going to fuck your tight, pretty ass with my cock,” he said in her ear. “Stand behind you, make you come.”

Her body gave a hard jerk. She was a drum, a vibration; everything he did strummed the high-pitched, quivering cord pulled taut through the center of her.
 
Another hard undulation rolled through her body.

“Going to come for me, babe?” he murmured against her ear.
 
His hand was a demon, perfect, hot, pushing devils of desire, he nudged that back finger in a little more and pumped it. She cried out; it was so dangerously good she screamed, lost in a swirl of getting-fucked intensity.
 
Johnny’s voice was her only anchor to sanity.

“I feel everything happening inside you,” he said in her ear, then nudged her face around and kissed her mouth, not like the sinful, perfect sensual talent of Johnny Danger, but like a lover, like a man who wanted to please her.

She came so hard her body jerked like a rag doll, her head tossing, her hair flashing by him, her body bucking.
   

While she was still reverberating like a bell, he carried her to the couch and laid her down.
 
He pulled down his jeans and put a hand on her knee, lifting it beside his hip, then grasped the base of his cock and entered her, not in a hard slam like she figured, like she wanted, but slowly, so that even in the middle of this powerful orgasm, she had to hold her breath from the force of simply
feeling
him entering her, of watching him want her, going slow as if to savor her, his eyes locked on hers.

“You don’t want me, Juliette,” he said so quietly she could barely hear him over the pounding of her blood. “I’m not fit for human consumption.”

“Oh Johnny,” she whispered back, holding his face so he couldn’t look away. “I don’t want to eat you. I just want to be with you.”
 

He slammed into her then, hard and fierce.

She took him, put her forearms over her head and lifted her hips high to take the next surge, and the next one, and the next, her body clenching in orgasm around him on every thrust.
 

He held her knee by his hip and they looked deep into each other’s eyes; she couldn’t look away, she was locked in them, locked in the depths of Johnny’s cold green eyes, gone hot with desire and anger and things she could never know.

He came in seconds.
 

Afterwards, for a long time, they just lay together, throbbing, occasionally convulsing, mostly just breathing.
 
Eventually, he pushed off her and when she was able, she wobbled to her feet, stunned.
 

She hadn’t known. Hadn’t known her body could do those things, that her body
wanted
those things.
 
Hadn’t known she’d wanted to be pushed, because no one ever pushed her like that before.
 

No one had ever wanted her that much.
 

She hadn’t known any man could touch her so deeply.
 

And the one guy who did, didn’t want her back.
 

He’d said it, clear as day. Oh, he might fuck her silly a few more times, but would that be enough? How could it ever be enough?

He was on his feet, helping her straighten her skirt.
 
He even went down on a knee and grabbed one of her shoes that had somehow ended up beneath his desk, put it on her foot, as if she were Cinderella.

She let him do it numbly.
 
Then he straightened to his feet.
 
They looked at each other for a long moment.
 

“You meant what you said,” she confirmed softly.

He didn’t look away.
 
He just nodded.

She nodded too, and turned for the door.
   

So, this was great.
 
She’d succeeded in getting a life, beyond her wildest dreams, but apparently it was destined to include a heart. Possibly a broken one. What a shitty lesson to learn.
 
A person had to be careful what she asked for, or they she might just get it.

That’s stupid
, she counseled herself, as she walked blindly toward the door.
 
She’d get over Johnny.
 

The breath knifed through her chest.
 

Okay, fine, she’d get over the
heartbreak
, she amended, trying to breathe. One day. Or at least through it.
 
But she would never get over Johnny.
 

So what?,
 
she thought numbly. Since when was getting over something a prerequisite for moving on?

She shut the door behind her.
   

She’d been so scared of the guilt.
 

Bereft was a thousand times worse.
 

BEREFT WAS NOT an option.
 
Juliette did not do bereft.
 
She did work.

The thought strengthened her.

She got in the elevator and jabbed the button for five.
 
She pictured the Danger Enterprise company car sitting in the garage, ready to take her back to her empty apartment where there was nothing to do but water her African violet, again.
 
She’d already watered it quite well, possibly a bit too well, earlier this evening.
   

She should get a fern of some sort.
 
Maybe an indoor greenhouse.

Angrily, she punched the button for the fifth floor a few more times, in case that would make the elevator stop more fiercely when it got there.
 

It arrived and dinged quite unfiercely, the muted bubble of a ding. The doors slid open smoothly and almost silently. She glared at them as she exited, thumping her feet heavily as she stalked down the hall and stopped at her small, darkened office.
 

She took a deep breath as she reached for the key, waiting for relief to roll through her, the way it always did was she was agitated and saw work coming to save her.

Oddly, the sight of her office didn’t immediately banish all feelings of bereavement.
   

She scowled at the cheery ‘Gone Fishing’ sign that still hung on her door, slightly askew.
 
It was a stupid sign, a leftover joke from a father who was eternally fishing in richer waters than those the drug-addicted mother of his kids could offer, but that didn’t stop the kids from hoping. Or at least one of them. Juliette’s brother had given up a long time ago.

It was Juliette’s curse that she hadn’t.
 
Wouldn’t.
 
She
could
, of course, but she was far too angry too give up.
 
The anger was fuel.

But right now, she mostly felt…out of gas.

That pissed her off all over again.
 
Damn Johnny.

She unlocked the door and walked inside, leaving the door open as she stopped in the center of the dim space, backlit by the spill of florescent lights from the corridor behind her.
 

She stared at the floor safe, the triple locked file cabinets, her desk.
 
The trifecta of distraction, the triumvirate of her real nation: work.
 
Whatever had happened with Johnny earlier, the sense of a new flag and a new world of connections, it was a lie.
 
Which she ought to have known. Which she
did
know. She’d just forgotten for a little while.

Damn that Danger.

Angrily, she strode to the cabinets and started unlocking them, pulling out files and flinging them onto her desk like lab experiments.
 
Coat still on, she swung into her chair and flipped on the light with one hand while she scrabbled for a pen with the other, then bent over the closest file and flipped it open, pen out, ready to correct every mistake she could find.
 

She couldn’t make out a single word.
 

Not even a number.
 
She couldn’t make anything out.
 
Nothing.
 
No words, no numbers, she didn’t even know what she was looking at. The dark lines of print were simply…indecipherable. It was a foreign language. Hieroglyphics.
 
It was as if she didn’t even know how to read an OTC forward derivatives contract.