FlakJacket by A Nichols Page B

his mind went a step further to ask if perhaps there were no panties. There should be a law about her running around his place half-undressed, but he had invited her into his home. The onus was all on him. He walked out of his office and into the kitchen on silent feet.
    “Miss Kelly.” She jumped as she heard his low voice and spilled her hot tea all down the front of her. She screamed as the hot liquid hit her chest and abdomen. He was spurred into action. “Damn, woman.” He ran to grab a towel and blot it, but his hands felt every inch of her upper body as he soaked up the liquid, and his eyes rested on her peaked breasts through the dampened material.
    “Shit, that’s hot,” she breathed as he worked. She was moving from foot to foot, trying to push the material away and fan herself, but his hands were in the way.
    “Did you burn yourself?” He was upset for not warning her that he was there.
    “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I might have.”
    His intense eyes caught hers and waited as he tried to select the appropriate course of action from his whiskey-befuddled brain. She determined to help him along. It was time to test the waters; he clearly was partially inebriated, his guard down. Jordan was a beautiful man, and if her son took after him? Her sultry voice washed over him: “For once in your life, don’t measure your response, Jordan—just act on your need.” His eyes met hers as something inside him snapped— she was here, she was of age, and she was willing. What more could a man ask?
    It had been some time since he had been with a woman he had any kind of a relationship with. He grabbed her hips harshly and pulled her into his body, his lips finding hers in a searing and commanding kiss. His skilled hands moved up to her very wet top and slipped under it, caressing her and softly rubbing the area kissed by the hot tea; he pushed the T-shirt further up and planted small kisses on the heat reddened areas of her chest and the tips of her breasts, sucking gently on them to her soft sighs and clasping hands. Then he stripped off the offending garment and tossed it.
    His hands splayed to cover each breast as her own passion rose to answer his; she ground her lower body against him as her hands wound in his dark hair, tugging it hard, her hands then falling to his shoulders and encircling his neck. It was as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. Her vision was now her reality, yet she knew he had no deep feelings for her; she was merely a willing receptacle to his need. Would the child come as a result of this sexual liaison? She knew it would.
    “Finally,” she breathed as she captured his lips. He was almost out of control, and that’s what she wanted. He plundered her mouth, his hands slipping from her uncovered breasts to her hips, pushing his hand down into her short shorts. He had been correct; there were no panties to impede his progress, and he cupped her, his finger finding her wetness. There was a God, Jordan thought, even if he had disavowed himself of one, years ago. He could feel her wrapping around him, drinking him in, taking what he was giving, and charging him with unwelcome emotion. He had never felt passion like this before between two people; this would be no rape.
    Witch. “Tell me no now, or I will take everything that you are offering.” He murmured against her lips. It was her last chance to stop him.
    Madison nipped at him, and her voice rang out in arousal. “Do it.” Once again, that’s all it took. He swept her up in his arms and moved down the hall to his bedroom. His body was screaming for everything he could take from her. He placed her on the bed and followed her down, covering her body with his own. Alarms were ringing in the back of his head, but he ignored them, and for the first time in his life—he acted with very little thought.
    He cradled her head in his hands, his tongue busy in her mouth. They snaked down to her waistband, and her short