Burn It Up(67)

She knelt between his legs, plucking at his shirt’s snaps. In a few clumsy seconds they got that off, and Casey shed his tee while Abilene worked his belt buckle open. He finished the job, shoving his jeans and shorts away. Abilene ditched her bottoms and shirt and bra, sitting naked before him now. She didn’t care about her belly or breasts or stretch marks or any other thing. All that mattered was the gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her bare body—pure awe and lust.

She studied him right back. She’d never stared at a man this way, so openly. It had seemed more feminine to steal shy glances. It had seemed more like her, in keeping with that persona she’d hidden behind for so long. But Casey knew better. He’d known she was pregnant by a violent criminal and maintained a crush on her through it all, so it wasn’t her more obvious charms that had attracted him. Precisely what it was, she couldn’t say, but ditching the shy-girl act was like stripping away more than her clothes. Like that tired old victim costume she’d relied on for way too long lay in tatters on the floor.

So she let her eyes feast, loving every detail of him. His skin was pale, freckles still lingering on his forearms and face, and tinted pink here and there, a blush that went far beyond his cheeks. The hair on his chest and between his legs was golden brown, and he had two moles on his left pec, one on his throat, each the color of toffee. A mauve smudge of a scar marred one thigh—a souvenir from a gunshot wound, though that was all she knew of its origin story.

His cock was hard, flushed dark, the skin of his head gleaming smooth and taut in the light of the reading lamp.

She saved his eyes for last, their blue looking dark, deep. Through all the scrutiny, he lay still, hands on his thighs. His lips were still parted, and his own curious eyes abandoned their exploration to meet hers.

“Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

“For letting me just . . . look at you.”

“Thanks for the same. You’re beautiful.”

She smiled and looked down, shy in a grateful, authentic way. “Thanks.”

“You’re perfect.”

She met his gaze. “So are you.”

His hand drifted slowly to cup the base of his cock, caressing the underside in slow, faint strokes. “I want you.”

“Anything.”

“I want you on top. I like you like this,” he added, focus dropping to her breasts, her legs, back up. “All shameless.”

She smiled again, blushing. “I like me this way, too.”

“Hang on one sec.” He moved, sitting at the bed’s edge to root through the side table drawer. He took out a box of condoms, drawing his nail along the lid to break the seal. He detached one from a strip and stowed the rest.

“You mind?” he asked, holding out the little square.

She shook her head. Casey got back to where he’d been, legs spread, back against the pillows and headboard. She rolled the rubber onto him slow and careful, the act feeling like foreplay for the first time ever, instead of some awkward, mood-killing necessity.

“I haven’t been on top in ages,” she whispered, straddling his legs.

“Are you ready? I got lube, too. Or I could use my mouth, whatever you need.”

Lube? Did people actually use lube? Abilene never had, ever in her life. Her very first lover had made it clear, if a woman wasn’t wet, it was about the worst insult you could deal to a man’s ego. James had always done the job with his spit, and she’d found that scandalous—felt ashamed that she’d needed it, but also relieved that he’d bothered to care.

“What?” Casey asked, smiling at whatever upended expression she was wearing.

“That’s not . . . Do people do that? Just use that stuff?”

He laughed. “Lube? Yeah, of course. How else do you have sex in a big messy rush?”

She wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was just uncomfortable, she’d figured. She’d always blamed herself for those times.

“Have you seriously never used lube?”

“No. Doesn’t it . . . I dunno. Hurt your feelings?”

He snorted. “What kind of an * has the nerve to get his feelings hurt when he’s about to get laid?”

Most of my exes, probably. She supposed it stood to reason, when you played the apologetic, deferring vessel, you attracted men who were content to treat you that way.

“The bottle’s in the drawer,” Casey said, nodding to the table.

She found it, messed around with the safety seal, recapped it. “How much do you . . .”

Casey took it, squirted a small shining blob on his fingers. She watched with fascination and excitement as he slicked his cock. Crazy. All this time, she’d assumed this was the woman’s responsibility.

“Here.” He wetted his fingers again and reached down between her legs, gently stroking the cool gel along her lips. Her breath drew short, from both the sensation and the brazenness of it.

Casey laughed softly, capped the bottle and tossed it aside. “Hope you don’t think we’re cheating somehow,” he teased.

Maybe a little, but really, that was her first lover’s voice, echoing from the back of her mind. She’d much prefer to listen to Casey’s, which seemed to be telling her this was completely normal.

“Lay down a sec,” he whispered. She did, and he moved to kneeling, straddling her leg, fingers returning to her sex to trace her now-slick seam with slow, light motions. “Feel all right?”