Page 11 of Something Has To Give

She tried to punch him, just one last time. But while her knuckles did manage to connect, there was no steam left behind it.

“That’s enough,” he drawled. He gave her shoulders a pat, and then let her go. She didn’t even have the energy to glare at him. She just let him walk her out of the kitchen, steering her through the living room and back into the same stupid corner she had spent most of last night facing.

He put her nose right up to the wall and tapped an invisible spot on the plaster. “Right here until I say differently. Got it?”

“Go to hell,” she mumbled, glaring at the wall.

Yeah, she hated him all right. She was really starting to hate this corner, too.

Chapter Five

December 23rd…

That night it snowed, so not only did they spend their Mexican sleep-off arguing over who got what share of mattress-space and the lone pillow, but the war was extended to include the blankets. Initially, Quint won the mattress and pillow, but lost the blankets, which left him with a section of thin sheet and a corner of covering to squeeze himself under. By morning, however, he found himself swaddled in both blankets and a softly-snoring Elsie, who wasn’t just cuddled up next to his side now, but who had in her slumbering bid for warmth, sprawled damn near on top of him.

Oh, the agony. His cock was like stone. It would have been standing straight up against his belly if only her hot, sweet ass weren’t lying directly on top of it. His belly was a furnace, so hard and tight, as tight as his balls, with the seat of her panty-clad sex branding his groin with the fires of her teasing proximity. Her t-shirt had ridden up, leaving her bare stomach to burn against his. Her breasts were still covered—his handsached to change that—and her hair was a curly brown fan spreading out across his shoulder and down his bicep. Her small hand was on his other arm. Now and then he could feel the minute twitches of her fingers as she slept, and oh, God, but the urge to wrap his arms around her was impossible to deny.

Even knowing he shouldn’t, Quint couldn’t stop himself. His hands moved of their own accord, folding in around her, filling themselves with the soft curves of her luscious backside. He squeezed, the pressure of his fingers easing only when she drew a sleepy breath and stirred, stretching, the tangle of her legs, shifting around his. The hot little core of her humped up a little before re-centering itself firmly against his cock. Oh, God…was he completely out of his shorts? He was, wasn’t he? He could feel the friction of her cotton panties abrading his throbbing flesh.

His fingers squeezed her bottom again, kneading, seeking the elastic edges around her legs and moving in underneath to fill his palms with the swells of each bottom cheek.

Elsie made a soft moaning sound in her sleep, and that sound stabbed into him as lustfully as any full-throated ‘fuck-me’ purr. He wanted her under him. Now. He wanted her mouth under his. He wanted to drink those moans straight from her lips.

His fingers, unbidden, moved down over the curve of her ass only to discover the most exquisite moisture. Elsie was wet. She was wet for him, and wiggling again, her hands moving up to grip at his arms. He couldn’t help touching her, stroking her, saturating his fingers as they glided up and down and in and out of her. His cock throbbed from the agony of neglect. Her hot little bottom began to move again, responding instinctively even in sleep to his touch. She moaned, and then again, because now he’d found it, the secretive nub that was the key to a woman’s pleasure, growing under the slippery, circling caress of his longest finger. Around and around and around, her hips began to grind in sleepy response. She was waking, but he didn’tcare. She was all he could feel, in his arms and full up against his body. She was all he could smell—her hair, her skin, the hot, wet musk of female arousal on every heated breath he drew. And the slickness of her, smearing up and down his shaft as she ground upon his fingers. Her sleepy head lifted. Her drowsy eyes lifted to stare uncomprehendingly at his chest, at his arms and then up at his face, meeting his eyes at last. And he couldn’t stop himself then, either. All it took was one startled blink—that flash of a moment when sleep retreated far enough to let recognition of what was happening take over—and there, right there in the brown abyss of her beautiful eyes, that shadow of temptation blossomed into full-blown feminine need.

Her mouth opened, and his complete undoing came with the shivery gasp that spilled out of her on waves of full-body delight. It was a spark, the tiny beginning of a sleepy orgasm that awakened all the right nerves in them both.

She was still looking boldly back into his eyes when he rolled them both—her onto her arching back and him now full on top of her. He had to get his hands out of her panties to do it. Need cut him, like fine razors scraping at his restraint. He held his weight off her on shaky arms, but his hips refused to obey all his attempts to rise or still. His cock demanded movement. He was grinding against her now, feeling nothing but the inferno of her sex and the absolute saturation of her desire, slicking his length on the slickness spreading across the insides of both her thighs, taunting him with what he wanted most right then.

“Spread your legs,” he said hoarsely. “That’s all you have to do. Spread your legs and let me in.”

And she almost did. He saw that too—the lust, the wanting that turned into hesitation before exploding into anger.

Elsie slugged him. She had a hell of a right hook that knocked him back just far enough for her to scramble out of bed. She ran for the bathroom and he was still wallowing in the blankets,cradling his jaw when he heard the door down the hall slam shut. A slightly bigger son of a bitch would have taken advantage of this opportunity to seal her into the bathroom the way she had him, but Quint didn’t.

He was such an idiot. His body was throbbing and aching with such intensity that he couldn’t even think about handling the problem himself. God knows, Rosy Palm and her five sisters were always willing, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t Elsie with her intoxicating body and heat curling up around him.

God, he was such an idiot. All he wanted right now, was for Elsie to change her mind, to come back out of the bathroom, to come back to his bed. If she did that, he’d have opened his arms to her. He’d have made love to her.

What the hell was wrong with him?

* * * * *

What was wrong with her? She could still feel him touching her, all of her. Her body felt more alive right now than it had in years. She tingled in some places, throbbed in others, and in others still, that sensation had morphed into something that was so base and raw that it wasn’t even throbbing anymore. It was need unlike anything she had ever known, and it was Quint Rydecker that she wanted.

Bent over the sink, Elsie stared at her reflection with both lust and horror. Quint Rydecker? How was that even possible? The man was going to throw her out of her home—the home she had made! He had also molested her in her sleep! How could she want a man like that? But the proof was right there, in the thrust of her nipples against the soft pink cotton of the long t-shirt she had worn to bed and in the molten pulse moving between her legs and up deep, deep inside her.

That man had spanked her—not once, twice!—and she still wanted him. What was wrong with her? Even just that word—spanked—made the amalgam of warring sensations inside herthump all the harder, moving across the clenching surface of her bottom and down the backs of both legs. It flowed like a caressing hand back up the inner slope of her thighs until it could center itself between them, stroking and pulsing in molten waves until all she wanted was to feel thrusting there. Deep thrusting. Hard thrusting.

Quint thrusting.

She was depraved. There was just no other word for it. She was absolutely depraved.

She bent all the way over, pressing her forehead against the bathroom counter and one hand against her sex, willing the needy sensation to stop. While in the very back of her mind, some traitorous thought whispered, ‘Open the door. Maybe Quint would see me bent over like this and spank me again.’

Inexcusably depraved.

She ought to be spanked just for thinking thoughts like that, forfeelinghaving feelings like this. The hand between her legs squeezed, then stroked, just once, the sort of thing girls weren’t supposed to do. The sort of thing theyshouldbe spanked for. She spread her legs a little further apart, lifting up on her toes to make her bottom a high, round, available target.

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