The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) by Jane Leopold Quinn
Authors: Jane Leopold Quinn
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eyes, he imagined Phoebe's head bent over his
hips, her hair sweeping his belly and thighs. Her mouth would have the heated
wetness he needed.
He grasped his cock firmly and
whipped his hand up and down, mimicking the blowjob he imagined, digging his
feet into the bed until his balls disappeared into his groin, signaling a tingling,
roiling boil of spunk. "Oh God, just come, damn it. Come on, fuck, fuck
yes, yes…"
Cum shot out as his hips surged off
the sheets. He kept stroking, squeezing it all out. The stream plopped onto his
chest, steaming then chilling on his hot body.
"Son of a bitch. Yeah."
His arms dropped heavily to the bed, legs next, his cock, still hard, bobbed.
He couldn't move. "Jesus." This climax had been more forceful than
any he'd remembered in the past.
Chapter Seven
His crooked smile had been
irresistibly devastating. Phoebe had almost grabbed him by the shirt and pulled
him inside just like he'd wanted. Only her heightened sense of
self-preservation had kept her from doing that.
She trusted so few people—mainly
Moira, Davy, and her adoptive parents. And to take an almost-total stranger
into her house even after two devouring kisses would make her too stupid to
live. Oh she wasn't afraid for her life with Marc Rahn. It was her peace of mind that was in danger.
She could get used to his kisses
and the promise of the hard cock he'd pressed against her stomach. The reality
was that she intended to blow B Falls as soon as an opportunity to sing in a
larger venue presented itself. She didn't want any man—even an admittedly hot
man—holding her back.
Which reminded her. Butch Wilcox.
She intended to break it off with him at dinner tonight. It wasn't like they'd
had a long relationship. Two dates and nothing more than a peck on the cheek.
Absently fanning her hot cheeks
with her hat, she closed her eyes, and relived what she and Marc had shared,
which was much more than a peck. The kisses had been full-blown, heated,
sweating lip-locks. His arms—it had been like his whole body had enfolded her.
She'd never been kissed like that in her twenty-two years. When they'd kissed
last night and his hand had roamed, she was certain he'd felt her nipple ring.
But no man had ever seen it, let alone touched it.
If he thought having one made her
easy, he had another think coming.
On her twenty-first birthday she
admittedly got a little tipsy. Throwing caution to the wind and relaxed just
enough to think it was a good idea, she'd had it pierced. So many times over
the last year, she'd thought to take it out, but it made her feel edgy, a
little dangerous.
Heat exploded throughout her body at
the thought of Marc Rahn playing with the ring, tugging on it, sucking her
nipple. She closed her eyes and touched herself, smiling at the prickling rush.
It probably wouldn't take long to climax with him. Not long at all.
No!
Don't fantasize about the man. You have a life to lead, a singing career to
promote, and a date to get ready for. She'd tell Butch in the nicest way
possible that she didn't want to get serious with anyone. He'd have to back
off. She hoped.
***
Butch stood on the front porch, his
knock peremptory. Did he think since he was a cop, he could demand anything and
get it? If she wanted this evening over and the breakup with him behind her she'd
have to start by opening the door. Ugh. "You're right on time."
"Sure honey, you ready?"
He leaned in to kiss her.
She sidled out of his way, his lips
all wrong, his face not the one she really wanted to see. Grabbing her purse,
she shooed him out ahead of her, and locked the door. When they reached Butch's
car in front of the house, she spotted Marc sipping a drink and lounging in a
rocking chair on his front porch.
Butch growled.
He actually growled like an animal. Whoa.
"I wish I knew what he came
back for. He doesn't have any family left in town. And why isn't he living in
his own house instead of over here?"
"How do you know each other?"
"High
hips, her hair sweeping his belly and thighs. Her mouth would have the heated
wetness he needed.
He grasped his cock firmly and
whipped his hand up and down, mimicking the blowjob he imagined, digging his
feet into the bed until his balls disappeared into his groin, signaling a tingling,
roiling boil of spunk. "Oh God, just come, damn it. Come on, fuck, fuck
yes, yes…"
Cum shot out as his hips surged off
the sheets. He kept stroking, squeezing it all out. The stream plopped onto his
chest, steaming then chilling on his hot body.
"Son of a bitch. Yeah."
His arms dropped heavily to the bed, legs next, his cock, still hard, bobbed.
He couldn't move. "Jesus." This climax had been more forceful than
any he'd remembered in the past.
Chapter Seven
His crooked smile had been
irresistibly devastating. Phoebe had almost grabbed him by the shirt and pulled
him inside just like he'd wanted. Only her heightened sense of
self-preservation had kept her from doing that.
She trusted so few people—mainly
Moira, Davy, and her adoptive parents. And to take an almost-total stranger
into her house even after two devouring kisses would make her too stupid to
live. Oh she wasn't afraid for her life with Marc Rahn. It was her peace of mind that was in danger.
She could get used to his kisses
and the promise of the hard cock he'd pressed against her stomach. The reality
was that she intended to blow B Falls as soon as an opportunity to sing in a
larger venue presented itself. She didn't want any man—even an admittedly hot
man—holding her back.
Which reminded her. Butch Wilcox.
She intended to break it off with him at dinner tonight. It wasn't like they'd
had a long relationship. Two dates and nothing more than a peck on the cheek.
Absently fanning her hot cheeks
with her hat, she closed her eyes, and relived what she and Marc had shared,
which was much more than a peck. The kisses had been full-blown, heated,
sweating lip-locks. His arms—it had been like his whole body had enfolded her.
She'd never been kissed like that in her twenty-two years. When they'd kissed
last night and his hand had roamed, she was certain he'd felt her nipple ring.
But no man had ever seen it, let alone touched it.
If he thought having one made her
easy, he had another think coming.
On her twenty-first birthday she
admittedly got a little tipsy. Throwing caution to the wind and relaxed just
enough to think it was a good idea, she'd had it pierced. So many times over
the last year, she'd thought to take it out, but it made her feel edgy, a
little dangerous.
Heat exploded throughout her body at
the thought of Marc Rahn playing with the ring, tugging on it, sucking her
nipple. She closed her eyes and touched herself, smiling at the prickling rush.
It probably wouldn't take long to climax with him. Not long at all.
No!
Don't fantasize about the man. You have a life to lead, a singing career to
promote, and a date to get ready for. She'd tell Butch in the nicest way
possible that she didn't want to get serious with anyone. He'd have to back
off. She hoped.
***
Butch stood on the front porch, his
knock peremptory. Did he think since he was a cop, he could demand anything and
get it? If she wanted this evening over and the breakup with him behind her she'd
have to start by opening the door. Ugh. "You're right on time."
"Sure honey, you ready?"
He leaned in to kiss her.
She sidled out of his way, his lips
all wrong, his face not the one she really wanted to see. Grabbing her purse,
she shooed him out ahead of her, and locked the door. When they reached Butch's
car in front of the house, she spotted Marc sipping a drink and lounging in a
rocking chair on his front porch.
Butch growled.
He actually growled like an animal. Whoa.
"I wish I knew what he came
back for. He doesn't have any family left in town. And why isn't he living in
his own house instead of over here?"
"How do you know each other?"
"High
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