Under Fire. Jamie Denton
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“You really want to go where no man has gone before?” She managed a barely-there laugh despite the sharp edge of frustration slicing away at her sensual psyche. “In order to get there, you were supposed to stay on the south route of Pleasure Parkway. What is it with men and directions, anyway?”
He smiled, but otherwise ignored her sarcasm. She couldn’t help herself. His arrogance was too sexy to ignore.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, then pulled his tingle wrist trick again. This time, she almost melted.
“I promise you,” he said, his deep, rich voice a husky rumble of sin, “I will give you everything you’ve been missing.”
“I DON’T KNOW if we’ll be able to use the condoms.”
If there was another woman in the world more sensual than Jana, Ben hadn’t met her. Or one that was as unashamed of her body, either, for that matter. Stark-naked, she stood in the doorway between her tastefully furnished bedroom and the small bathroom, the overhead light behind her silhouetting her curves.
He’d never been more turned on, or hard. He hadn’t exactly been filling her with a line of BS, but he’d intentionally brought a premature end to their lovemaking fifteen minutes ago and suggested they move to the bedroom for one simple reason—he’d been too close to losing control.
If he hadn’t stopped, he was ashamed to admit even to himself that he might have made a monumental mistake and made love to her without protection. He’d been coherent enough to realize that Jana had passed the crucial point of no return and was probably not in a state of mind to object.
“Why? How old are they?” He rested his back against the padded headboard, the floral sheet draped over his lap.
She turned to the side for more light and peered at the box. The quick stream of breath she blew on the box sent a puff of dust floating in the air around her. She sneezed.
“That old, huh?” He liked the idea she’d had a box of condoms in her bathroom long enough to collect dust. Arrogance? Maybe. Had to be, he decided. Anything else defied logic.
“Six months,” she said with a shrug. “Could be eight. Wanna hit that light?”
He turned on the bedside lamp, then waited for her to join him. She tossed the box of condoms in his direction; he caught it with one hand. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips as if she’d been doing it forever. After what they’d just done, shyness would be hypocritical.
“See if you can find an expiration date.”
He set the small box on the nightstand next to the alarm clock. “They don’t have the shelf life of Twinkies, but anything under a couple of years is probably safe.”
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