Restless. Tori Carrington

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      Oh, yes. This definitely had been a good idea.

      She forced her eyes open and tucked her chin into her chest so she could watch Gauge’s dark head as he parted her legs, baring her fully to his gaze. He followed the line of her fissure with his thumbs then opened her fleshy lips, his tongue lapping at her most intimate of intimates.

      She was suddenly incapable of swallowing, incapable of thought. She twisted her fists into the downy blanket under her, reaching for something, anything that would relieve the pressure building between her legs…in her veins…filling her stomach. It seemed as if she’d flown too close to the sun in one long catapult, needing to pull away, yet wanting to stay to enjoy the spectacular view.

      He slid his index finger inside her throbbing depths and she cried out, coming instantly, the pressure escaping in a series of muscle-deep spasms.

      She was just beginning to regain her breath when she realized he was still licking her, apparently lapping her clean.

      Lizzie found it difficult to swallow, a convert to lights-on sex. She’d been able to watch every expression on his face, every movement of his tongue. She’d been laid out against the mattress, open to his attentions, vulnerable at her weakest moment.

      And she’d experienced one of the best orgasms she’d had in recent memory.

      Gauge lifted himself up on his arms, his gaze intense as it flicked over her face. He slid forward until his hips lay between her legs and his chest rasped against the tips of her breasts. Lizzie’s hands immediately went to his face, needing to draw him near so she could kiss him.

      He buried his face in her neck instead, leaving her little choice but to focus her attention on his shoulder.

      He was hard where a man was meant to be hard, no extra ounce of flesh on him anywhere. There was a tattoo on his right arm, but she couldn’t make it out as she felt him move between her thighs.

      Her throat tightened when she felt him naked and hard against her slick portal.

       “Condom?” she choked.

      He didn’t say anything for a long moment, merely ran his mouth against the column of her neck, creating a wet trail down to her breast and back.

      What if he refused to wear one? Sure, she was on the pill, mostly to help regulate her periods, but she’d even made Jerry wear a condom.

      “In the drawer to your right,” he said quietly.

      Relieved, she reached for and found a foil-wrapped packet, freeing the lubricated latex inside and helping to sheath him. When he might have pulled away to enter her, she wrapped her fingers around his thick width instead and measured his length. Her thumbnail barely reached her index fingernail around him, and she guessed that if he got hard in his jeans and his member was positioned upward, you might see the tip there at the waist. Because she’d been right in her earlier supposition that he didn’t wear briefs or boxers. Nice…

      He held himself above her, watching her face, his own cast in shadow from his tousled dark hair. His mouth was incredible, his lips generous, almost feminine. She released his erection and licked her lips in preparation for his kiss.

      He entered her in one slow stroke instead.

      She’d thought his mouth had worked miracles, but that had left her woefully unprepared for the feel of him inside her.

      She was almost too tight for him, too small. But as he waited for her slick muscles to adjust to his size, a hungry restlessness built within her. She bent her knees for better traction and tilted her hips upward, taking even more of him in.

      She blindly sought his mouth and connected with his jaw instead, kissing him repeatedly as he slowly withdrew and then slid inside her again, filling her almost to overflowing.

      “Kiss me!” she whispered, grasping his arms to steady herself for his quickened stroke.

      He did. He kissed her cheek nearer her ear. Then he whispered back, “This is fucking, Lizzie. Not lovemaking. It’s best that neither of us gets confused.”

      Then he quickened the pace of his strokes more, giving her little time to protest or to even consider protesting as he shoved her closer and closer to her next climax…

      THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Gauge woke to the sound of a ringing phone. Probably one of the neighbors’, he thought, rolling onto his back and pulling the pillow over his head. Then he realized that he didn’t have any neighbors. At least not ones separated from him by a wall.

      He dragged the pillow off his face and stared at the ceiling, guessing it to be around nine or ten. The scent of musk teased his nose and he put the pillow back to his face, glancing at the other side of the bed. Gone.

      It was just as well that Lizzie Gilbred had gotten up and left his place at some point during the night.

      He reached for the telephone receiver next to the bed, but it stopped mid-ring.

      Good.

      He reached down and scratched his balls then slid his fingers down his semierect shaft. He’d give Lizzie a lot of credit. Some women might have taken offense at his refusal of intimacy. Not her. If anything, she’d seemed further turned-on by the idea that she was there for sex and sex only. No strings that stretched beyond the perimeter of this bed.

      She’d been insatiable. Going from screaming orgasm one moment to frenzied, sex-starved nympho the next. It had been a good long while since he’d enjoyed more than just a ten-minute sack session with a woman.

      And months since he’d awakened not thirsting for a swallow from the bottle on the kitchen table across the room.

      He tossed off the blankets and rose from the bed, heading for the bathroom and the shower, where he stood for long minutes under the hot spray. He’d promised the band that he’d stop by the pub this morning to practice before they opened for lunch. He shouldn’t have a problem making it, seeing as he really didn’t have anything else on his agenda.

      Hell, he didn’t know what he was still doing in Fantasy, Michigan. If he’d known what was good for him, he’d have left right after Nina and Kevin’s wedding in August. Would never have unpacked his bag or his guitar and would have hightailed it back out after the reception.

      But he hadn’t.

      For some reason he had yet to fully define, he’d stayed on, renting the garage apartment from sexy Lizzie Gilbred, sitting in with area bands when they needed him and waiting until either wanderlust or a long-term commitment to a single band saw him hitting the road again.

      Then he’d blinked and it was almost Christmas.

      He’d hoped to be well out of the northern city before winter hit. While he’d lived through the past three when he’d gone into partnership with Nina and Kevin, he’d been vaguely looking forward to heading someplace south this season, as he had done in the years before the three had become friends.

      He pushed his face into the punishing hot spray and ran his hands over the stubble covering his jaw.

      Friends. Now there was a word for you.

      The ringing started again.

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