The Dimple Strikes Back (32 page)

When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I had to have him inside me, I moved off him and shifted to his hips. I moved onto his cock, thick and warm inside me. “I love you,” he groaned as I slid down, my hand on his shoulder. I took care to avoid his bandaged area.

“I love you,” I said, sitting back, easing my pussy around him. “Now, don’t you move. I’ll do all the work.”

He groaned and bucked his hips. “I don’t care if it hurts. I need you.”

I slid upward, and he sighed into the duvet, his eyes closed. He braced my working arm with his, and I relied on him to be able to move high up on his cock, and slide back down again. Pure delight, pure desire pulsed through my body, flowing from where we joined. My injuries were soon forgotten, and I revelled in his fullness inside my body. He thrust his hips into mine, apparently not caring, either, about our limitations. I rode him, working his cock, my entire sex pulsating and wet and feeling unbelievably good. I wanted it to last forever, but we’d been too deprived of one another, too ready to screw each other’s brains out.

He jerked up one more time and cried out, coming inside me, the warmth of him flooding me. I leant down over his chest and ground my clit against his body, almost there, a shattering bliss building up and spilling over as I convulsed around his cock. I almost fell on him in my shuddering pleasure, but remembered to hold myself just in time. His hands braced themselves against my stomach, and I stayed upright, my head dizzy, my body still fluttering with the last of my orgasm.

Gingerly, I slid off his cock—mmmmmm, a pleasure in and of itself—and lay down beside him. He took my hand, both of us breathing hard. “Are you okay?” I asked.

He pressed against his giant bandage. “I’m fantastic. Jesus, I needed that.”

“Me, too.” My arm throbbed from all the blood pumping though my body, but I willed myself to relax. My head spun from the sex, and from my medicine, truth be told. I couldn’t say that I minded. Relaxation was a welcome change from a constant state of ‘aaaagggghhh!’

The sun shining through the sheers and the heat from our bodies warmed us into a sleepy state. “Sam?”

“Yeah, baby?”

I licked my lips, my mouth worrying over the question. “Do you really think you can be happy this way?”

He turned his head, concern furrowing his brow. “What way?”

“Not criminal-ing anymore. Just, you know, playing house with me?”

Grunting a little, he pushed himself up to sitting. “I make my own choices. And I’ve chosen a different way to live. With you. Not only because of you, but because of me, too.” He crooked one knee and shifted more towards me. “I loved stealing. I’m sure I’ll miss the thrill, forming plans, getting away with it.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But things change in life. I’ve found you, and I love you more than my old career.”

My eyes welled up. “Really?”

“Yes. I decided this a year ago.” He grinned, the dimple sneaking out just for me. “I don’t want to rot in jail with a life mate named Lockpick Larry until I’m an unemployable senior citizen. Not that there’s anything wrong with prison husbands named Lockpick Larry, but he’s not my first choice. You are.”

“Aw, you want me more than poor, hypothetical Larry?”

He nodded and pointed his non-injured eye in my direction. “Although you have worse taste in music.”

I managed to get into a sitting position and grabbed his hands. “You’re my first choice, too. I couldn’t really ever stay away from you, even when it was good for me. Because, I guess, you’re good for me. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I—” There were too many things to list. My heart swelled, and I gazed into his beautiful eyes, er, eye that could change from green to brown to grey. A lady could never tyre of staring at such peepers. “For always being on my side, even when I’m an idiot and don’t realise it.”

A shy smile flitted across his face and he stared at the duvet. “North Carolina folks gotta stick together.”

I smiled. “Do you want to drag our banged-up bones out to the beach to soak in the sun?”

He pushed a stray strand of my hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. “Soaking with you is one of my favourite things.”

Something told me that Sam and I wouldn’t be sitting around idle for long, but for now, I’d enjoy it.

Or maybe this was the end of the craziness in our lives. Maybe we’d become a couple whose biggest concern was making sure all our Tupperware had lids.

I shuddered. Maybe…not.

* * * *

What Could Go Wrong?

by

F. Langley

Final Draft

Ext. A Beach In Bora Bora—Day

Angle On:
Jayde Loving
sips a piña colada on a chaise next to her partner in crime
Chase Dakota.

Jayde Loving: We got away with it, my darling. We cleaned out the British Museum and walked away unscathed.

Chase Dakota: Yes, and we also were able to reconcile so that our days are full of sunny splendour, and our nights full of sexual exploration under the stars.

Jayde Loving: I have the sand in my crack to prove it.

Chase pulls off his aviators in a sexy swipe and plants a fond stare on Jayde…one might even call it
loving
.

Chase Dakota: What shall we do now? The possibilities are endless. As long as the possibilities happen in a country that has no extradition agreement with the UK. We could climb mountains. We could comb the depths of the ocean for treasure.

Jayde Loving: I don’t know. You want to get some enormous hamburgers and watch a
Misfits
marathon?

Chase Dakota: How did you know?

Jayde shrugs.

Jayde Loving: I’m super smart, and also super hungry.

Chase Dakota: Maybe we could knock over a bank on the way to get the food.

Jayde Loving: We have eighty million dollars!

Chase Dakota: That’s not the point. I enjoy the notion that we
could
rob a bank whenever we wanted to.

Jayde Loving: Well, anybody could do that.

Chase Dakota: I know.

He sits up and kisses her hand.

Chase Dakota: That’s the fun of life, isn’t it?

Jayde Loving: How about this… I’ll race you to the Burger Hut. If you beat me…

Chase Dakota: Which I will.

Jayde Loving: …then we can play cops and robbers.

Chase Dakota: You brought your sexy cop outfit?

Jayde Loving: With the tear-away bullet-proof vest.

Chase yanks Jayde out of her chair.

Chase Dakota: What are we waiting for?

He sprints across the sand and out of the shot.

Jayde Loving: Hey, wait! That’s cheating!

Jayde, laughing, runs after Chase. One might even call it…
chasing
. She glows with renewed love for him—once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel. And she wouldn’t really have it any other way.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Samantha Lytton: The Dimple of Doom

Lucy Woodhull

Excerpt

Chapter One

Accountants should not be so sexy.

It all started at the office Christmas party, as many terrible hangovers do.

My palms began to sweat at the sight of The Accountant walking in my direction. His shining eyes said,
I wanna spread your sheet
, his masterful gait said,
Damn, I’m masterful
, and his tantalising smirk said,
I’ve read the
Kama Sutra—
all the way through
.

I swallowed the lump of lust in my throat and twiddled with the tablecloth of the catered buffet table. My usual party plan involved making winsome eyes at the food, but tonight I salivated over more than just the pigs in a blanket.

“Potato ball?” he asked. Sam Turner, aka The Accountant, held the fried offering palm up on a festive red and green paper plate.

I had the hots for a dude named Sam. My name is Samantha. Samantha ‘n’ Sam. It was the stuff of obnoxious wedding invitations.

What colour were his hazel eyes today? Glancing up, I slid into hormone heaven. He stood, eyes mossy green pools of sensual seductiveness, and offered me the Garden of Eden apple. Except it was a potato ball.

Cocking my head, I posed in an alluring manner that I hoped brought Marilyn Monroe to mind. I should say something. Something not stupid.

“I love balls.” Oh, damn. “And potatoes!” Did I just tell him I loved to eat balls? “I mean I love to eat food! In ball form. You know. Because it’s easy. To eat. Except when it rolls. Then it can be hard to catch.”

Stop.

Talking.

“Okay.” Sam’s lips turned upward in mockery on his almost handsome, totally charming face, topped in curling, floppy, please-run-your-hands-through-me brown hair.

Yes, I absolutely had told him I loved to eat balls. I decided I should smile through this faux pas. Everyone knew a bright grin made unpleasant things go away. Ask Judy Garland.

“I like food in stick or chip form myself,” he said, munching a piece of celery in stick form.

I couldn’t come up with anything to say about sticks that wasn’t dirty. “Chips are good.” Really, I impressed even myself with the brilliance of my witty banter. At any moment my clothes would be ripped off my quivering body by Sam, my same-named accounting crush.

I hated the office Christmas party.

Sam blinked and appraised me in what I chose to interpret as a captivated manner. A girl could dream. Instead he said, “So, Scott told me you entertained the employees at last year’s party.”

“Yes. I fell down the steps.” My cheeks burned like the carpet at the end of two flights of stairs. I wasn’t clumsy too often, but when I made the effort, I really won at it. “You can still see the splotch on the floor from the blood. I lost a tooth, but gained a reputation.”

“That’s gross.” He grinned. One wouldn’t call him drop-dead gorgeous or anything. At first, you might consider him kinda ordinary-looking. Then the naughty glimmer in his eye caught your breath. The smile appeared, emphasising the lickable curve of his bottom lip. Charm emanated from his very pores.

And, of course, he possessed the nuclear weapon of facial features. The dimple. Only one—on the left side of his face—deep enough to bury yourself in. One flicker and panties fell at thirty paces.

My body temperature had suddenly shot upward to somewhere near surface of the sun levels. I’d disconnected completely from the conversation and reverted to teenage-girl-like gawking.

I took a steadying breath and jumped back into the fray. “So, accounting? Is that as glamorous as it sounds?” I had, apparently, decided that deriding his profession was the way to go, flirt-wise. Plays like this were risky, but desperation had sunk in. His temp job in the finance department ended today—I would have no more chances to bend and snap at the water cooler for his benefit.

The corners of his sometimes green, sometimes brown, always dreamy eyes crinkled. “Of course. Usually I have eight models in my accounting entourage, but I gave them the night off.”

Uh-oh. He was funny, too. It just wasn’t fair. “How kind of you. You could say you’re a
model
boss! Ha ha!” Yes, I laughed at my own joke, which was a behaviour shared by the most sophisticated of ladies. Then I remembered I turned a horrid shade of blotchy red when I got too excited. I choked off my laughter and forced down some potato.

“I could say that, but I won’t.”

“No, you really shouldn’t.”

The dimple chose that moment to come out and play.
Oh, Sam—let’s retire to the supply room and hump.
It had been so long since I had humped anyone. Or anywhere. I shoved more mmmmm-yummy potato ball into my mouth and almost didn’t get it on my festive sweater, the beautiful red one I’d spent way too much money on in the hopes of getting Sam to notice me.

He noticed now. “You have a blob of—”

Then he grabbed my boob.

“Jesus, I’m sorry!” His eyes became saucers, and he jerked his hand back, leaving my skin scorched and feverish. “There’s a bunch of potato on your…sweater. Let’s, um, let’s go to the kitchen. There’s a sink.”

My stomach dropped three storeys—I’d just accidentally got to second base in public. He grabbed my arm, and we hurried past a maze of monochrome cubes draped in twinkle lights to the break room. This was the most exciting event in the office since they had switched the carpeting from taupe to tan.

Sam stood there while I applied a paper towel to my tit. Actually, he didn’t merely stand there—he stared, turned away, blinked and stared again. I couldn’t blame the guy. The girls were rather ravishing—perky from the cold water, encased in a formidable push-up bra, eager for more inappropriate fondling.

“I’m sorry about…that.” He slumped and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“It’s okay. It happens.” I smiled, brimming with reassurance.