Triple Time (7 page)

But what a lovely way to burn.

“Hell, yes,” Gabe croaked. She reached up to touch his face, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her midway, lowering her hand slowly but not releasing it. “Not here. Not like this. No more doorways or alleys. This time we do it right. Slow and easy. Even if it takes all night.”

Oh, yeah. A fucking lovely burn.

He pulled her to the curb and whistled for a cab.

“We can walk. Or the subway's just up the block...”

He shushed her with a finger to her lips. “I know you're a big fan of public transportation. But I'm done sharing you tonight.”

Could mere words make someone come? Because Devin was pretty sure she almost had.

She pulled herself together and ducked into the open door of the taxi, sliding across the bench seat until she was pressed against the far door. If Gabe could wait, so could she, but only if he didn't touch her.

He gave the cab driver her address and flashed Devin a good-boy-with-bad-intentions smile that had her practically coming again.

It was a damned good thing her apartment was only a five-minute ride away.

“You're awfully quiet way over there,” Gabe said as the cab pulled away from the curb. “Having second thoughts?”

Second, third and fourth, but she wasn't going to let him know that. What the fuck was wrong with her? When she wanted a guy, she wanted him. And she usually had him. No hemming and hawing, full steam ahead.

So why was it different with Gabe? She wanted him. He wanted her. It should be as simple as that.

The cabby jammed on the brakes in front of Devin's apartment building, saving her from answering. “That'll be six bucks even.”

Gabe handed over a ten and got out without waiting for change. He extended a hand to Devin, and she took it before she could chicken out. A tremor ran through her at the contact.

“You can still change your mind.” He dropped her hand, almost like he realized how much his touch affected her and wanted to make sure she was acting with her head and not her hormones. “I hear it's a woman's prerogative.”

“Maybe.” She exhaled slowly, reclaimed his hand and led him up the stairs. “But not this woman. Not tonight.”

 

7

D
EVIN
'
S
APARTMENT
WAS
just like her. Cluttered. Eclectic. Fascinating.

But Gabe barely had time to notice the collection of
Game of Thrones
bobbleheads on a shelf over the sink in the tiny galley kitchen, the pile of cooking magazines on the living room end table or the stack of paperback romances by the front door. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only.

Devin. In his arms. Preferably naked.

The snick of the lock echoed behind him.

“Do you want something to drink?” She moved past him into the living area, flicking on lights as she went. “I've got beer in the fridge and a bottle of merlot stashed somewhere. Or there's coffee or water if you want something nonalcoholic.”

He stared at her as she fluttered around the apartment. Picking up a dirty dish. Straightening a picture frame.

She was nervous. Ballsy, badass Devin Padilla was nervous.

He sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Come here.”

“Or I could cook something if you're hungry.” She took a few steps toward the refrigerator. “I've got eggs, cheese and a pepper I should use before it goes bad. I could whip up an omelet.”

“I'm not hungry. Or thirsty.” He leaned back and patted the cushion again, one corner of his mouth curling into an amused smile. “Come. Here.”

She crossed to him, the spiked heels of her knee-high black boots tapping the wood floor with each slow, deliberate step, and lowered herself next to him on the couch.

“Tell me about your tattoos.” He took her wrist and flipped it over, tracing the letters inscribed there. “What's this one?”

She hesitated for a moment before answering, thrown off track by his abrupt change of subject. Just as he'd intended. “It says ‘not afraid to walk this world alone.'”

“I can see that.” He continued to stroke the soft skin of her wrist, her pulse jumping under his fingers. “But what does it mean?”

“Have you heard of the band My Chemical Romance?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“I didn't think so.” She gave him a bemused smile. “It's from one of their songs, ‘
Famous Last Words.'
”

“Pretty grim lyrics.”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I always saw them as words of strength. Determination to keep on going, no matter what.”

“Interesting interpretation.” He hooked a finger under the straps of her bra and tank top, inching them off her shoulder to reveal a swath of red, orange and yellow on the swell of her left breast. “How about this one? A bird?”

“A phoenix.” He nudged the straps further down to see more of the tattoo. Her lips parted and her breath tickled his cheek. “Rising from the ashes of my misspent youth.”

“And the spider behind your ear?” His hand trailed up her neck and into her hair, pushing it back. It ran through his fingers like silk, releasing the fresh almond scent of her shampoo.

She tipped her head back, encouraging him to explore further. “That was my first tattoo. I was barely eighteen. And monumentally stupid. I thought it made me look tough.”

“It makes you look dangerous.” He bent his head and nipped, then licked the spot. She tasted like honey and marshmallows and warm, willing woman, and he wanted more. Way more. “Sexy. Are there any others I don't know about?”

With one finger, she traced a path up his inseam to his waistband and toyed with the button there. “Why don't you undress me and find out?”

Her voice was thick with desire. He looked around the room for a door or a hallway. Something, anything that led to her bedroom. He needed a little more maneuvering room for what he had planned. A slow and steady seduction the likes of which Ms. Walking-the-World-Alone had most likely never let herself experience. “Bed?”

“You're sitting on it. The couch folds out. It's actually pretty comfortable.”

“Sweetheart, at this point it could be a rusty cot in Sing Sing and I wouldn't care.” As long as he could lay her out and feast on her as if she was his private, personal Thanksgiving banquet.

“I'll bet you've got a California king.”

“Not quite, but it's big enough. We'll have to try it out sometime.” He rose, pulling her up with him. In a hot second, he had the cushions off and was reaching for the handle under the mattress. “But for tonight, this'll do just fine.”

He said a silent prayer of thanks when the thing sprang open without much effort, already made.

She yanked the hem of her tank from under her cutoffs and started to lift it over her stomach, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “I believe you offered me that pleasure. Lie down. I want to uncover those tattoos one by one. Like the seven wonders of the world.”

“So you're the Indiana Jones of body art now, huh?” She raised an eyebrow but complied, letting her shirt fall and positioning herself across the bed. Propping her head up on one hand, she gazed at him with a hint of devilment in her eyes. “I should probably warn you. There are more than seven.”

He met her gaze. “I'm up for the challenge.”

“What about you? Aren't you going to get naked?”

“Ladies first.” He knelt and lifted one of her feet, the leather of her boot smooth and cool under his hot palm. “As much as I'd love to have your legs wrapped around me in these, they have to go.”

“Something else for next time, I guess.” She sighed as he pulled her boot off and his hands returned to caress her toes, her instep, her heel, the pale skin of her calf, a spot at the back of her knee that made her moan.

Next time.

Her words reverberated in his head as he repeated the process on her other leg.
Oh, yeah.
She might not be willing to admit it yet, but he was getting to her. Breaking through the brassy bravado she used to keep everyone at arm's length.

Not for long.
The Devin the world saw was just her hard exterior, her protective armor. He'd gotten glimpses of what lay beneath when she talked about her brother, or Leo or teaching kids to read. And those glimpses only whetted his appetite. He wanted to unearth more than her tattoos.

But they'd do for a start.

“What do we have here?” He examined one ankle, then the other, his thumbs moving over the twin hearts etched on each one. “A matched set?”

“Not quite.” She moistened her lips and parted her legs slightly. “The left has my initial inside, the right has Victor's.”

“Nice.” His hands moved up her bare calves. “Nothing here?”

She shook her head. “You have to go a little...higher.”

“Like here?” He snuck a hand under the frayed edge of her cutoffs.

“You're getting warmer.”

“How about here?” The hand traveled up her thigh to her crotch, making her suck in a sharp breath.

“Warmer.”

“Here?” He brushed her hipbone and she shivered.

“You're burning up.”

“No, sweetheart.” With his other hand, he unbuttoned her shorts. The lacy fabric of her do-me-red panties teased his knuckles as he lowered the zipper. He eased the cutoffs over her hips and down her long legs, leaving her flushed and panting, wearing only the naughty undies and skimpy tank top. “You are.”

* * *

B
URNING
UP
? T
HAT
WAS
putting it mildly. More like spontaneously combusting.

Was that possible?

“Please,” Devin moaned, hating herself for begging even as the word escaped her lips. She was supposed to be running this show, not Mr. Nice Guy. How had she lost control so far, so fast?

Gabe lay next to her on the bed—still fully clothed, damn it—and she swung a leg over his hips, straddling him. It was time for her to get the upper hand before he teased her into oblivion.

“Not so fast.” He rolled her onto her back and held her there with the weight of his long, lean body. “I'm not finished exploring. By my count I've got at least three more tattoos to discover.”

She arched against him, begging with actions now instead of words. “They're not going anywhere. Can't you finish your inventory later? I need to come.”

If she thought her crudeness would shock him, she was wrong. Gabe grinned down at her like she was a pitcher of ice-cold beer and he was dying of thirst. He dipped a finger into her panties, skimming the top of her pussy, temptingly close to her aching clit. “Oh, you're going to come all right. Multiple times.”

“Now.” She rolled her hips. The movement only made him withdraw his finger, frustrating her further.

“Trust me. It'll be worth the wait.” He raised her shirt over her stomach, and she sat up part way, helping him yank it over her head and off, exposing a red lace bra that matched her undies. “Now about those tattoos...”

He mapped each one with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. The starfish on her hip. The wood nymph on her shoulder. The chain of daisies around her belly button. The sugar skull, a colorful symbol of Mexico's Day of the Dead, on her lower back.

Devin was about ready to climb the walls when he finally reached for the clasp of her bra.

“I think it's time we lose this, too.” Gabe peeled it off with maddening slowness, like he was uncovering a priceless treasure. When he was done, he tilted his head and admired his handiwork, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, before moving in for her panties. “And these.”

They quickly went the way of her bra.

“Now you.” Devin grabbed at the waistband of his jeans.

“I told you.” He gave her a hard, fast kiss—the first of the night, she realized, bewildered—then slid down her body, putting his fly out of reach. “Ladies first.”

“Gabe.” She gasped as he kissed and licked his way past her breasts to her rib cage, her navel and beyond.

“Oh my God.” She gasped again when his warm breath fanned over the strip of hair she'd left above her pussy.

“Damn. You're so sensitive.” His hand joined his mouth, and he curved a finger inside her. “So wet.”

She jerked in response, desperate for him to find the spot that would send her over the edge.

“What's the matter, sweetheart?” He added another finger, pumping them slowly but still missing that all-important pleasure point. “No one ever take his sweet time with you? Worship every inch of your heavenly body? Make sure you're satisfied before worrying about himself?”

“Not as much as I'd like.” She writhed beneath him and clutched his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

“That's what I love about you. Your honesty. At least when it comes to sex. As for the other stuff...” His lips hovered over her mound. “We'll get there. Eventually.”

She didn't have time to dwell on his use of the word “love.” Or wonder what “other stuff” he was talking about. His tongue swept across her labia and he buried his face in her folds, sucking and lapping at her with the same single-minded intensity he approached everything in his life. She moaned and let one leg fall off the edge of the bed, opening herself to his sensual assault.

He tugged at her clit, drawing it into his mouth and sucking furiously, bringing her to the brink of release. But before she could get there, he lifted his head and gave her a told-you-so smile. “Still with me?”

“Yes, dammit.” She fisted his hair, trying to push him back down. “Don't stop. I'm so close.”

“See what I mean?” His smile widened. “Honesty. The kind that deserves a reward.”

He dove back in and with one swipe of his tongue sent her pussy into spasms. She held her breath as her orgasm rolled through her like thunder before a summer storm. At its peak, she called out his name as if to remind herself that the guy she'd always thought of as a bit of a prude—a smoking hot prude, sure, but a prude nonetheless—had been the one to reduce her to a boneless, quivering mass of spent desire. And how.

“That was some reward,” she said a few minutes later when coherent thought had somewhat returned.

“I'm glad you approve.” He stood, shucking off his sneakers and shedding his T-shirt. The tight jeans were molded to his thighs and groin, showing off an already impressive erection. “But that was just the beginning. Are you ready for me?”

“I've been ready since the White Horse.” She raised herself up on her knees, her eyes locked on the bulge in his jeans, and yanked on his waistband. “I want you inside me.”

He bent down and kissed her, and she could taste herself on his lips. “Hold that thought.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

“Jackpot.” He dropped the wallet, a goofy grin on his face and a string of condoms dangling from his fingers.

She rested on her heels and smiled back at him. “Pretty cocky, aren't you?”

“More like cautiously optimistic.” He pushed his jeans down over his hips and kicked them off. His erection jutted out proudly, long and thick, the tip glistening with moisture.

“Aye, mami.”

His grin got goofier and wider. “Now that's what a guy likes to hear.”

Typical male.

“You know what they say.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave him the once-over. Again. Her sex tingled with the knowledge that his monster of a cock would soon be filling her, but she couldn't resist teasing him. “It's not the size of the boat. It's the motion of the ocean.”

“Then be prepared for a tsunami. Because I don't think I'm going to be able to hold back once I'm inside you.” He climbed onto the bed and ripped off one of the condom packets, tossing the rest on the end table. He tore it open and rolled it on, the glint in his eyes telling her he liked the way she watched his hands slide over the head of his penis and down the shaft.