Operation G-spot. Jodi Lynn CopelandЧитать онлайн книгу.
Another damned interruption.
Kristi: Oy. Colin walked in on you guys again?
Liz: No. It was, um, one of Dusty’s employees. We were kinda getting down and dirty on the pool table at his bar and…And the point is I was close, sooo incredibly close, and the idiot guy comes out of the back and pulls this “I didn’t know you weren’t alone” crap.
Kristi: Pool table, huh? Lots of ball handling going on.
Liz: Ha-ha, and no. Dusty was fully clothed, and his hands were hardly involved.
Fiona: I’ll take that to mean he was doing you with his mouth. You know they say, it’s harder for most women to come that way. If he had you that close with just a few licks, imagine what’ll happen if you give him another chance when you’re both naked. Don’t give up on this guy. He’s got your number.
Kristi: Ooh…is it 69?
Kristi: Okay, so I can hear the groans all the way to Seattle. ’Nough with the bad jokes. Seriously, Liz, Fi is right. Either give him another try or hand him over. I wasn’t joking when I said I should come to Atlanta and meet him. If you aren’t going to go for the big O with stud man, I will.
Liz sat back in her chair and stuck her tongue out at her laptop monitor. Dusty had accused her of being a nutcase last night, but the true nutsos were Kristi and Fiona. Had they forgotten every bad word she’d ever typed about Dusty, or why were they encouraging her to give him yet another try? Maybe there was a chance of him making her come if they could get together without any interruptions, but all that would accomplish was her hating herself after the fact.
He wasn’t just a player—that she could handle—he was an unscrupulous man-whore. One who was not, under any circumstances, getting his hands or his tongue back on her body.
As for Kristi’s desire to do him…The thought of Dusty sleeping with her friend tightened her belly into knots. It was sympathy for Kristi to blame. The woman came across as the type to fall hard once she found a guy who could do her right. If she hooked up with Dusty, bad things would surely happen. Liz’s duty as a friend was to tell Kristi to stay away from Dusty. Unfortunately, her duty as a woman who’d vowed to help the others locate a man capable of finding their G-spot and providing them with the big O outweighed that. Aching belly or not, she had only one option….
Liz: You want him, you got him, Kristi. Just let me know when you can come to town and you’re as good as fucked.
Dusty stepped out of his truck and hustled from the parking lot to the community center. Thanks to having to break up an argument at the bar before it could escalate into a physical fight, he was five minutes late. He would be damned if he would be any later. Tonight was all about impressions, and every second counted.
Three days had passed since Liz walked out on him, orgasmless yet again. He should have spent that time worrying over how getting caught messing around at work would affect his relationship with his employees; he’d never intended for things to move beyond a little kissing and groping. Instead the idea that Liz might have had another man waiting for her in the parking lot had goaded him day and night. If she’d had another man lined up and still allowed Dusty to stick his tongue in her, then she’d expected him to fail to make her climax the whole time.
He’d failed at a number of things in life, hundreds of things depending on who you asked. When it came to sex, he wouldn’t be a failure in anyone’s eyes, damnit.
Sex was his forte. The one area his ego had every reason to soar. He sure as hell knew how to find a woman’s G-spot, knew exactly what buttons to push to have her creaming in his hands. And he would prove it to Liz. He had to prove it to her. He now knew for a fact that she was to blame for his recent celibacy streak. She was the first person to threaten his self-confidence on any level since he’d moved to Georgia, and that threat would linger until it was quashed.
Reaching the community center, Dusty pulled open the door and headed into the room across from the entrance. The cooking class was a mix of women and men, young and old; it was also the perfect way to get closer to Liz and convince her to give him another chance at pleasuring her, this time the right way.
Guilt edged up with the idea that what he was about to do bordered on deceitful—he didn’t believe in luring a woman into his arms. Then again, you could hardly lure the willing. Even if she’d had another man waiting for her three nights ago (hell, he didn’t want to buy that claim), Dusty didn’t believe that man had been the cause of her wetness. Liz had been hot for Dusty and Dusty alone. How he treated her over the next hour and a half might sway the evening’s outcome in his favor; but if it ended with her inviting him back between her legs for some prime shag time, it would be because she wanted him there 100 percent.
Dusty spotted Liz in the back of the open room, pulling bowls from a floor cupboard. She wasn’t facing him, and she didn’t need to be. He’d know that tight ass, hugged to testosterone-tormenting perfection in a pair of faded black jeans, anywhere.
His dick stirred to life with the memory of filling his hands with her supple backside. That a mere thought could have such a strong effect on his libido made one thing clear: It had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. If this night didn’t end with him screwing Liz, then it would end with him screwing some other woman, regardless if she was a challenge to get into bed and a bolster to his ego, or just another easy, feel-good lay.
Pulling his thoughts from his boxers, Dusty caught the instructor’s eye and nodded a hello. A middle-aged man with close-cut, thinning brown hair and a black apron emblazoned with red and green jalapenos, the guy worked his way around the room, answering questions and assisting students at their work stations. Each station consisted of a stove, refrigerator, sink, and several cupboards.
Liz went to the refrigerator in her station, opened the door, and fished around inside. Dusty quickly crossed the room to stand on the other side of the refrigerator door. Several seconds passed and the door closed. He knew the instant she spotted him—her face registered shock, and the eggs in her right hand exploded in her fist, sending shell flying and thick yellow and white liquid dripping onto the floor.
Checking his amusement, he grabbed a washcloth from next to the sink and bent down to clean up the mess. He glanced up at her as he worked. “Nervous?”
Her eyes narrowed, shock fading to revulsion. “No. It’s an anxious tic I get whenever I’m about to kick someone’s ass. What are you doing here, Marr?”
Standing, he dropped the egg mess into the sink and washed his hands. He reached into the refrigerator for two fresh eggs, then set them on the counter next to the bowls she’d set out. “Cooking. Isn’t that what people do in cooking class?”
Liz’s gaze narrowed further, suspicion alive in every line of her body. “This class has been going on for almost two months. It’s also full. I have a hard time believing even you could sweet-talk your way past those factors.”
Dusty grinned. She would be surprised how much a little sweet-talking could accomplish. Since he didn’t come here to talk sex, at least not yet, he shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know the instructor’s sister.”
With a knowing look, she grabbed a container of flour from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “Yeah. I bet you do.”
“Her husband was an acquaintance of mine before I moved here.”
She whirled to face him. Incredulity shot through her eyes. “Ohmigawd! You slept with a married woman!”
Dusty felt a dozen sets of eyes land on him with the blurted words. He could pretend he wanted to set Liz straight for the sake of getting closer to her and then getting back in her pants. The truth was he had a real problem with her or anyone else thinking so lowly of him. Yeah, he loved sex and women’s bodies in general—be they thin, chunky, or somewhere in between—but he would never mess with a married woman. “Amazingly, I don’t sleep with every woman I meet,” he said rigidly, and then nodded at the ingredients she’d laid out. “What are we making?”
Liz