Switch Me On

Chapter Two

“My house looks...different.”

Her warm, almond-brown eyes were squinting against the harsh overhead light of Bruno’s kitchen, making her look like Bambi in the headlights. She wasn’t really mad, she was just trying to sound that way.

“That’s because it’s mine.”

She was propped against a French door that led to the back porch, next to a column of stacked boxes. He hadn’t been able to find her jacket, so she was wearing his coat, which had been a gift. Bruno had thought Burberry only made trench coats, but this Burberry was of camel’s hair, the exact color of some of the blonder streaks in her strawberry hair. He decided the hint of dark roots was kind of sexy. Actually, everything about her was. Usually black nails went in the too-trashy column, but something sweet in her personality undercut the aggregate effect, probably because Bruno had seen The Other Her. The boring Alter Ego.

He eyed where his shoulder seams hit her upper arms.

“Sh...” she whispered, then giggled.

It was awfully quiet. He had an iPod and dock somewhere, but he wasn’t wasting time rummaging for noise when they could make their own. The do-me voice was all the noise Bruno needed. Her voice turned questions like “Is this your car?” or “Can I turn on the radio?” into hardcore. Now she waggled a finger at him so he leaned against her, put the finger in his mouth and suckled. She tasted creamy and salty and just plain good.

“I think you missed some road signs, Mr. Electricity.”

While it was true the Road Rover’s GPS had not led Bruno to the exact coordinates she’d offered, he hadn’t missed any important signs. His two PhDs might not be in breathing, but he was still an expert in sighs, pants and whisperings. Leaning to look into her face—she was a short little wisp of a woman—he eyed her solemnly. “In my infinite wisdom, I realized your evening would get a whole lot better if we took this detour.”

“The detour is for my benefit?” she whispered throatily, her head back, neck exposed in invitation, the voice curling fire in his belly. “When did your infinite wisdom decide I need this benefit?”

“When we got in the Road Rover and you said, ‘Isn’t it about time you got off the grid?’” She’d sounded sort of like the woman in the commercial, but a whole lot sexier.

“Your Infinite Wisdom swore you’d take me home.”

He smiled at being called that. “And I will...TMA.”

She giggled nervously as he slid both hands under the shoulders of the coat and removed it, not taking his eyes off hers as he tossed it onto the boxes. She said, “Promise?”

“All kinds of things.”

The sweat-drenched blouse had dried in the car, and now the fabric was limp as he ran a finger downward, unbuttoning. Exhaling raggedly, he let his eyes rove. She was average height, but stacked, spilling out of her underwear. It just didn’t get better than this. He cupped a breast through a lacy light green bra, and a second later, a throaty groan tore from his throat. Too much fabric was between them, his slacks, her tights, and presumably her panties, but his thigh had found her crotch again and he was loving the feel of the dampness and the heat.

“God, you’re wet,” he whispered.

She nuzzled her face against him, using her cold, ski-jump nose to further open his shirt, her hair unbelievably soft on his skin, her cheeks chilly but warming as they swam in chest hair. His senses heightened, and a sudden gentle scrape of knotted metal from her earring felt like a leather whip.

“Feel free to keep talking,” he urged, not finding a hard edge anywhere on her as he explored. D.C. women could be gym-obsessive, their bodies as hard as rocks and possessing all the pliability of store mannequins, but this woman had soft cushions every place. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say, because your voice is so fucking sexy...so say anything...”

“Anything.”

If he hadn’t been so horny he would have laughed. “Now try something.”

“Something.” As he bent to look into her Bambis again, she whispered, “Quit looking at me.”

“Why? Are you nervous?” Oh, yes, he really wanted to keep this woman talking. Her sudden shyness was another surprise, too. She was more comfortable if he just ravished her, and it brought out the worst in him, making him want to prolong the agony of seduction. Leaning, he slowly licked the very tops of her breasts, where the mounds of flesh began to crest. If he hadn’t known about her stupid day job, he’d think she hadn’t seen the light of day in eons. Pushing the blouse off her shoulders, he looked at the bra a long moment.

“You’ve got great taste in underwear.”

The voice was scarcely audible, the best it had sounded yet. “You have to lean a lot.”

He came closer, letting her feel the feathery heat of his breath on her neck long enough to build anticipation, then he whispered, “You’re short.”

She giggled wildly as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No...” She poked his chest. “You’re tall.”

He hoped she wasn’t about to get argumentative. Drunks did sometimes, and she’d had a few too many. Not that he was taking advantage; she knew what she was doing. He said, “And now for your hair ornaments.”

That prompted another gale of giggles, since the ornaments were pencils. Having overheated while dancing, she’d taken them from the bar and used them to bind up the wild strawberry strands. As disheveled hair cascaded over her shoulders, he simply dropped the pencils, letting them clatter on the kitchen floor.

“I’m too short,” she announced, a hank of hair falling across her cheek. Since she looked so concerned, he kissed away the stray hair, then kissed her eyes shut. Unclasping the front hook of the bra, he closed a thumb and finger on a nipple, caressing, rolling, pinching until he stifled her sigh by covering her lips with his. Plunging his tongue, he let the kiss get good and wet.

When he pulled away, she murmured against his mouth. “Your back probably hurts from all the bending you have to do because I’m so short.”

“It’s very painful,” he whispered.

“Oh,” she returned contritely. That turned into oh, oh, oh, when he rustled a hand under her skirt and inside the tights. Twining long fingers in her curls then cupping her, he groaned. She was really wet. Slicking a finger, he glided it over her clit and said, “If we were lying down, I wouldn’t have to keep bending over just to kiss you.”

“Because I’m so short...”

He could barely talk. “Right.”

Another shudder. “I see...”

He pushed a thick finger inside her, watched her eyes glaze, then he settled his mouth over an aroused nipple. Her little moan sent something as hot as molten lead to his groin. Dammit, every time he thought he had a handle on this woman from the backwater, he lost his grip again. She’d gone from boring hygienist to hardened party girl, to cutie-pie-empath, and now the only thing he felt was raw desire. Her every incarnation was killing him. He could not predict TMA at all. He wasn’t even sure he was going to get her into bed tonight, in which case there would be no morning after, and that had to be a first.

“It’s just a promise,” she whispered.

“What?”

“It’s never as good as the kisses.”

Yeah, right. To prove otherwise, he thrust another finger inside. In and out until she whimpered. “It’s always better than the kisses.”

“You’re wrong about that, Mr. Electricity.”

“Want to bet?” Abruptly, he retrieved his hand from where it was sandwiched between her creamy skin and the body-hugging tights. He started dragging her behind him, into the hallway. “I’m feeling a strong need to show you something.”

“What?”

“My bedroom.”

She giggled again. At least he’d put sheets on the bed. Not that it would have mattered at this point. Her giggle cut off abruptly when he simply pointed at the mattress. Her eyes widened, but she plopped obediently on the edge, her blouse pushed off her shoulders, the bra open in front, her breasts swaying as she scooted backward, the short skirt hiking as she moved. He considered a moment, deciding what he wanted to do first. Then he followed her, lying on top, covering her body with his. He went for slow, wet languid kisses on her breasts. He tongued the tips, lightly biting the nipples, while he kicked off her high heels and dealt with her skirt and tights. Before he got to her panties, she was undressing him, too.

“Say something with your porno voice,” he requested.

“Kisses are just promises,” she whispered back, slurring a little. “The rest is never as good. Never.”

That bothered him more than it should have. But soon, she’d be teetering on the brink of orgasm, of course, and he’d keep her in agony until she retracted that statement. Yes, there were numerous things he felt compelled to do with her before getting out the condoms. Those he had unpacked. He couldn’t wait to be inside her, when everything would be reduced to wild heat and soft sensation.