The One Real Thing
Page 88

Suddenly Cooper was striding out of the music shop, his hand still holding tight to mine. “Cooper?”
He didn’t answer as he marched us briskly down the street to his truck. “Get in,” he demanded as he yanked open the passenger door.
I didn’t argue.
Within seconds the truck was pulling away from the street as he headed toward his house. However, to my surprise, not a minute later, Cooper swung the truck into the dark alley between the ten-pin bowling building and the movie theater. The truck just fit behind the trash cans in the sunless space. “What are you doing?” I said, dumbstruck as I watched him unbuckle his seat belt in the dim light. Quickly realizing he meant for us to have sex here, I gasped, “Cooper . . . anyone might see us.”
“No, they won’t.” His voice was gruff as he unbuckled my seat belt. “And I can’t wait for you, Jess.”
Our eyes met and I flushed hot from the hungry need in his tone. But still . . . “Cooper . . .”
His hand slid under my dress, pushing my thighs apart, and my hips jerked as his fingertips brushed over my underwear.
My very damp underwear.
Satisfaction hardened his gaze. “Get in the back, Jess.”
I was about to combust. “Okay,” I whispered, clambering over the middle console, feeling like a naughty teenager as I collapsed against the backseat.
Cooper was there with me in seconds, grasping my hips and pulling them toward him so I slipped down the leather onto my back. Our ragged breathing filled the car and I watched as he shoved my dress up and yanked down my panties.
Next I heard the zipper on his jeans and anticipation rippled through my lower belly, making me past ready for him. “Coop,” I found myself pleading, suddenly as desperate as he was. We’d both been checked out; I was on the pill—there was no reason not to give in to the need for instant gratification.
He gripped my left thigh, holding it high and tight against his hip, and then he thrust inside of me.
Lights exploded behind my eyes as my inner muscles clamped around him, an unexpected orgasm shaking through me instantly.
“Jess!” he grunted in surprise, slamming into me in deep strokes, stoking another fire inside of me. He braced his hands by my head, his thrusts slowing to hard pumps as his mouth crushed over mine.
I kissed him back, desperate for the taste of him on my tongue.
His lips trailed from my lips along my jaw to my ear. “Come for me, Jess. Again,” he demanded with a thrust that made my back arch with pleasure.
I wanted to. I was hungry for it . . . but it was just out of reach, and I knew Cooper was close to coming.
He slipped his hand between our bodies and pressed his thumb down on my clit. A jolt of hot pleasure zinged through me. “Yes!” I cried, arching against him as he circled my clit while his cock moved inside of me.
Another climax tore through me.
Cooper’s hips tensed against mine. “Jess.” He gave a long, low groan and his hips jerked against mine as he came.
Gripping my thigh against his hip, he rested his forehead on my chest as he tried to catch his breath.
Reality began to seep in as the heat of satisfaction cooled. “We just had sex in an alley,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Couldn’t wait,” he murmured, lifting his head to look at me. “And that was over too fast. We’re not done.”
Unbelievably, I felt desire stir within me again. “Can we make it to your place this time?” I teased.
“Oh yeah.” He sat up, pulling gently out of me. “I still want you on your hands and knees.”
Oh boy.
There were worse ways to pay for being emotionally distant from him, I thought, pretending even to myself that I wasn’t scared that what we had between us was becoming too fragile to stay in one piece. “You got it,” I promised.
I stared at the two bestsellers, trying to make up my mind which one I wanted to borrow. It was my morning off from the inn, and like many a morning since my arrival in Hartwell, I was spending it at Emery’s.
A few weeks before, we’d stumbled over the awkward subject of finances. My finances. My now limited finances.
Emery, because she was kind and did it without hurting my pride, offered to let me borrow books from her instead of buying.
“I need your help,” I called to her after the only other customer in the store had left.
It was still early in the morning. Not Emery’s busy time.
A few seconds later she was by my side. “You can’t choose?”
“These two.” I pointed to the books on her bestsellers chart.
She contemplated them. “That one.” She pointed to the one on the right. They were both thrillers. “It’s smarter.”
“Cool.” I took a copy down off the shelf and hugged it. “Thanks again.”
She shrugged, wearing her usual shy smile. “Do you want a coffee?”
“I sure do.” I followed her to the counter. “So what’s new with you?”
“Um . . .” She frowned, thinking about it, and then her eyes lit up. “I ordered a new espresso machine.”
I opened my mouth, not even sure how I was going to reply to that, when my phone rang, saving me. It was Bailey. She was, thankfully, over being pissed at me. “What’s up?”
“George Beckwith isn’t selling to Ian Devlin!”
I winced at her excited, shrill cry. “What?”
“George Beckwith! We just got word. He refused to sell his building to the Devlins.”