Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(19)

There might have been a chance for Rita to see more. He’d vowed to himself they would stop at kissing. Just enough to fulfill the promise he’d made earlier outside the garage. Just enough that his every other thought wouldn’t be What does she taste like. …What does she taste like. …Oh, GOD, what does her mouth feel like? Then his past had popped up and bitten him in the ass once again, the suspicions she clearly already had about him confirmed in the space of thirty seconds.

Well, fine.

Fine.

If that was the way fate wanted to play, bring it on. Common sense might be loitering in the back of his head, telling him his next move was a mistake, but he was too pissed off to heed the warning. And, yeah, he was ashamed. Probably even more than he was mad, actually. He’d been ashamed for a long time, though, and right now blocking it out seemed like a damn fine idea.

I came here so you would fuck me.

Didn’t matter that Rita appeared desperate for the world to swallow her whole now, flames blooming in her cheeks. The words had been said, intentions made clear. “Jasper, I shouldn’t have—”

“That is why you came, isn’t it?” Talking dirty to a woman was just like riding a bike. Jasper rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and gave Rita a deliberate, head-to-toe once-over, watching her thighs flex under his notice. His cock gloried in the sight, hardening in his briefs. Right, beautiful. I’ll fit myself between them with enough force to show you who’s taking the lead. “You’re an up-against-the-wall kind of girl, aren’t you?”

“All girls are up-against-the-wall girls,” she whispered, then look surprised at herself for having spoken. “I-I think.”

Damn her for making him want to laugh when he needed to break something. “You have me there. Why do you think that is?”

Jasper propped one hand high above her head, tracing the waistband of her black jeans with the other, back and forth across her belly button. Slower. Lower. “Um…” Her stomach hollowed underneath his touch and shuddered back out. “There’s nowhere to go?”

“That’s right. You have nowhere. To go.” He flicked open the button of her pants. “Maybe every girl does like it against the wall. But not every man can keep her up there long enough to call it fucking. It’s only fucking when a man finishes the woman, in my book.” He sucked his lower lip through his teeth. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You need a good, leg-shakin’ finish and decided I’d be up for the job.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he eliminated whatever her response might have been by shoving a hand into her jeans and roughly cupping her pussy. Jasper groaned into the space above her head. Fuck yes. She’d be a tight fit. Rita almost collapsed, a sob wrenching from her throat, kicking up an ache in his chest. No hiding, no pretense in her pretty features. Just—pain. Need. Gorgeous, breathtaking need. It slapped the edge off his anger, brought him back to the present. Almost, anyway.

“How long has it been?”

When she flinched, he realized he’d barked the question. “I-I’m not answering that. It’s none of your business.”

He should have left it, but there was a driving need for knowledge about this woman that wouldn’t be satisfied, despite her disinterest in anything apart from how he could get her off. So he went about getting information the best way he knew how.

Pressing his open mouth over her ear, he teased the edge of her underwear with his knuckle, letting it slip under just a touch. “You know you want to tell me. The longer it’s been, the harder I’ll set to work between these legs.”

“Why do you want to know? So you can laugh at me like those women did? So you can write me off as a charity expense on your taxes?” Her breath puffed against his lips. “Screw you. I don’t care what you think.”

Everything inside Jasper seized. With denial, surprise, anger. All of them leapfrogging to be in the lead. “Whoa, now, Rita. Hey. You just wait one damn second there—”

She kissed him. It was such an unexpected move that his mind drained of anything but the soft curves of her lips interlocking with his. The subtle taste of original-flavored ChapStick. A pounding began, loud and dramatic, between his ears, growing louder when she opened her mouth to invite his tongue inside. There was a reason he should pull back—clarification of one pretty fucked-up misunderstanding was sure-as-shit necessary—but he couldn’t fathom a way to stop. Not when she kind of fell into him like his mouth held the key to eternal happiness. For the first time in his life, he forgot he had his hand between a woman’s legs because her mouth took precedent. Her breath, her scent, the way she sighed. If he could carve it with a chisel on his memory, he would’ve done it with gusto.

It took her fingers stroking down his forearm to cover the hand cradling her pussy for him to regain awareness of the intimate touch. Oh, and he remembered with a goddamn vengeance. She put pressure on his hand, moaning into his mouth with the universal language for More, keep going. With their tongues tangling together, lips slanting for frantic tastes, he had no choice. He yanked down her panties and slid his middle finger between her wet folds—so wet he tore his mouth away so he could curse.

“God. I would mouth-fuck this little sweetheart for days.”

Rita moaned, her legs clamping around his hand. “Oh, you can’t say things like that. Or this…will be over really fast.”