Today's snog comes from my newest release Exposure. My heroine Stella has been mugged by a gang who clearly don't want her to continue her investigations into the murder of Tony Pinelli. She's stuck at home with bruises and torn muscles, wondering who set her up. Then she gets a phone call from Jimmy Ostermann, the police detective who's carried a torch for her since high school. Still, he has behaved suspiciously over the past few days. She has decided that seeing him would be dangerous. But she can't resist.
As part of the celebration for the release of Exposure, I'm giving away a copy of the book to one lucky reader who comments on my Thursday post, or here. Comment on both and you have two chances to win!
And don't forget to check out today's other kiss offerings, over at Snog Central!
There’s an awkward silence. I can hear Jimmy’s breathing on the other end of the line, and my own heartbeat, speeding up. I’m beginning to feel warm again. Even hot.
“So, what are you doing?”
“Not much. Reading, watching TV. Trying to relax.”
“Would you like some company?”
Loneliness slams into me and runs over my body like a ten ton truck. Do I want company? God, I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
Be careful, I tell myself. You can’t trust anyone.
“I don’t know, Jimmy...” I begin.
“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry that I asked.” He sounds so lost, so forlorn. So sexy.
Screw being careful. “Yes, I’d love some company. I’m going crazy here, all by myself.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“Really. I’m not up to my usual form, but I’d love to see you.”
I can imagine Jimmy’s ear-to-ear grin. “Well, then. I’ll be right over. See you in about fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Great, Jimmy. See you.”
I know I’m being weak, but I’m really too excited to care. Fifteen minutes. Just enough time to change. Should I put on those black satin lounging pajamas I got on sale at Victoria’s Secret? Or maybe the embroidered silk kimono? On the other hand, maybe that’s coming on too strong. Jimmy finds me scary enough already. Perhaps the long hippie dress of Indian cotton is the right look. It’s casual and understated but still kind of exotic...
In the end, I don’t have the energy to climb the stairs to my closet. I figure that Jimmy’s an old friend, and he’s already seen me naked. I don’t have to put on a costume for him. I sit there on the sofa, wearing the lightweight summer bathrobe I put on when I got up from my nap. It’s that peach color that sets off my skin so well. It will have to do.
There’s a soft knock. I hobble over to the door and peer through the peephole to confirm that it’s Jimmy. It seems to take hours for me to unfasten the chain and retract the bolt, but I finally get the door open.
“Hi, Stella.” His voice is soft, concerned. It feels like a caress. “I didn’t want to ring the bell. Figured your nerves were kind of shot, the last thing you need is the jangling.”
Jimmy looks a bit rumpled. His sandy hair is in his eyes. His white business shirt is damp, wrinkled and untucked in the back. He needs a shave.
He looks good enough to eat.
“Come on in out the rain. I’m so glad to see you.”
“Not as glad as I am to see you.” Jimmy wraps his arms around me in what begins as a brotherly hug.
He buries his face in my hair, breathing deeply. “I’ve been so worried about you, Stella. This whole thing with the murders...”
“Shush, let’s not talk about that.” I am enjoying the feel of his lean, strong body pressed against mine. I ignore the dull ache from my bruised ribs. I want him to be my only reality. He smells clean, despite his disarray: soap, menthol, some kind of lemony aftershave. Just a hint of sweat, enough to blend the other scents into something organic and distinctly Jimmy. Breathing him in, I feel a bit light-headed, like he was some kind of drug. My knees go weak, and I hold onto him more tightly.
“Stella...” he whispers. His hands begin to roam, gliding from my back under my arms to cradle my breasts. He holds them almost reverently, ignoring for the moment the swollen, demanding nipples poking into his chest.
I adjust my position, inserting one thigh between his legs, to seek out the rigid bulk I know I’ll find there. Ooh, Jimmy! Very nice! I rub myself back and forth over his cock, teasing, feeling him grow even bigger and harder. A shudder runs through his frame and I think for a moment that I’ve gone too far, that he’s already going to come. I try to back away, but he grabs me and pulls me back, grinding his thigh against my pubis.
Even through two layers of cloth, my clit pulses and throbs exquisitely. I reach around and grab his butt cheeks so that I can control the friction. He does the same to me. For I don’t know how long, we stand there tangled up in the doorway, dry-humping each other like two teenagers.
I’m halfway to coming, when he stops suddenly. I start to protest, but he silences me with a rich, delicious kiss. It’s strong and sweet like Greek coffee, brazen tongue probing, shy lips nibbling. I kiss him back eagerly, trying to pour all my gratitude and my lust into the moment.
All at once I’m off balance. Before I realize what is happening, Jimmy sweeps me up in his arms and carries me into the parlor. “Jimmy, you’ll hurt yourself!” I’m half laughing, half concerned. I’m not a small woman, and Jimmy’s no Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Just relax and let me do the work.” He settles me gently on the couch and for a moment just stands back to look at me, something like adoration in his eyes. I’m embarrassed by his intensity. I focus my attention on the appealing bulge in his groin.
“Why don’t you open your fly and make yourself more comfortable?” I reach for his zipper, but he catches my hands in his, holding them tight. His lips twist in an odd half-smile.
“Why don’t you let someone else take control for a change?”
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