Part 18 (1/2)
”Give me five minutes,” he said, lowering to one nipple and tugging it gently into his mouth.
”Can't spare it,” she responded breathlessly, a catch in her voice.
”Five minutes,” he repeated roughly before his mouth captured hers.
She was lost in the kiss but mindful of her body's jerking response to his ministrations, quite conscious of the slick, wet warmth between her legs that now begged for his attention.
Unable to do more than kiss him back wildly, she grasped his shoulders as he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist, carrying her with him to the door to secure it.
By the time they reached his bed, both of them were breathless and too captivated by pa.s.sion to worry about discarding clothes delicately, so much so that Marilyn barely sheathed him with a condom before the optimum moment. Jack was inside her within seconds, his body rigid with an aching need to fill her and feel her desire explode with his. Consumed by an unquenchable thirst to push her beyond whatever boundaries she might have, he couldn't have held back if he'd tried.
He rolled over, taking her with him, positioning her above him, his hands on her hips, and despite the urgency of his thrusts, there was something extraordinarily tender in his touch and the look in his eyes.
Marilyn cried out as her body shattered long before she was ready mentally, and when she did, Jack reversed their position, this time staring down at her, his eyes never leaving hers as his arms held her fast and he nudged her to yet another explosive peak.
”I've...never...done this in...five minutes,” he apologized, panting afterwards. ”Well...there was that one time with you.”
”I won't tell if you don't.”
”Deal. Oh, G.o.d.” He lay back against the pillows and groaned.
”That's it?” she asked.
Jack was stricken. ”What do you mean by that?”
”Five minutes is all you're going to give me?”
”I gave you about five hours of it last night!”
The two of them burst into laughter, immediately shus.h.i.+ng one another in case anyone could hear them.
”I'm going to give you my undivided attention, slaving over a hot stove for the next two days. What more do you want?”
”The next three nights,” she said, smiling impishly. She pushed aside the thought that followed-I'd like more than three nights with you...much more.
”Wouldn't have it any other way.”
Chapter Sixteen.
Native American Chicken Corn Chowder Ingredients: 2 cups sofke corn (cleanse with water until water runs clear) 1 whole chicken, cut up Salt & pepper to taste Boil about 2 1/2 to 3 hours, never letting water level dry up. Once chicken and corn are cooked, let it boil
and cook down so that there won't be so much water. Then add: 1/4 cup chopped carrots 1/4 cup celery Cook on low heat for approximately 30 minutes. Serve hot.
”You're a man of many talents,” Sam commented once he and Jack were in the middle of the Illinois River and Jack had caught the first trout of their outing.
”Not really,” Jack said with a grimace.
”Oh, don't be so modest, boy!” Sam said encouragingly. ”Marilyn can't stop talking about you.”
Jack looked over his shoulder at his fis.h.i.+ng partner and caught the older man eyeing him thoughtfully.
”I've been droppin' a line in this river since I could walk,” Jack said. ”So this li'l ole trout ain't nothin'.” He grinned. ”My younger brother Chance-now he's a fisherman. He can out-fish anybody, any day of the week.”
Yeah, but he's not the Delacroix who's boinking my daughter!
Jack jumped. Had Sam really said that? He shot Sam a worried glance, only to find the old man concentrating on his lure. Jack's breath that had caught in his throat finally exploded in a whoosh as he realized his imagination was out of bounds and that neither of them had said anything.
”How long do you figure we'll be out here?” Sam asked.
Jack shrugged. ”Probably a couple hours. 'Til you get tired, I suppose. Why?”
”Because that's two hours of your life that you can't get back. When you are my age, those two hours become important. So why don't you level with me and tell me why my daughter doesn't want you preparing Beef Flambe for me tonight?”
”Pardon?”
”She's tried twice to get me over to her cabin so she can cook for me-and frankly, I'd rather she didn't.”
After a moment of silence, in which Jack had nothing to say, Sam continued. ”My daughter's culinary expertise extends to peanut b.u.t.ter and banana sandwiches for any meal and the occasional can of soup, provided she can get the can opener to cooperate. Her coffee comes from Starbucks, her breakfast bagels from a bakery and her meals from either a delivery vehicle or behind a fast food counter. She lived with her boyfriend before she made this trip-but suddenly, the man who gave her everything wasn't good enough for her. So what gives?”
”She-she had a boyfriend?”
”A fiance, actually. Weird fellow. I never cared much for him, but he was good to my daughter. Kept her in the country at least. So are you going to tell me what's going on or not?”
Moment of truth, Jack told himself. But he couldn't do it.
”Maybe she just wants to spend more time alone with you, sir,” Jack offered.
Sam shook his head. ”Doubt it. Marilyn takes after her mother-that woman would rather spend twice the time dancing around a subject and sneak up on it rather than confront it head-on. Many women are funny like that-never met a man who did it, though.”
Jack squirmed, his conscience p.r.i.c.king him. Was Sam cagey enough to suspect him of doing the same thing? After a few seconds contemplating just how far he was willing to go with his lie, Jack confessed.
”She thinks that I can't cook. Actually, I only learned how this past year, but she came here with one of my Navy buddies, and I guess they got to talkin' on the plane. Anyway, when they landed here, she believed him, and it's not Chuck's fault-I never told him I'd been practicing.”
He didn't know Sam O'Malley well enough to gauge his reaction, whether the old man would be angry or disappointed. What he didn't expect was the loud guffaw followed by laughter so thick that Sam choked on it.
Jack set the stringer with their first catch back in the river with one end hooked to a ring on the canoe. Then he turned to face Sam, who was still laughing.
”I should've known,” Sam said, wiping his eyes.
”What's that?” Jack asked.
”That she'd managed to land herself in hot water. Remember what I just said about her mother? Marilyn's the same way. She's talked about everything but this upcoming cooking contest. We've talked about her childhood, whether or not she's bossy-which she is-and canoe trips and my brother. But we haven't talked about the events of this week. Now I know why. Oh, man.”
The old man chuckled again and sighed loudly. ”What I wouldn't have given to have been a fly on the wall the moment she learned the author she's backed can't cook.”
”What do you mean the author she's backed? I thought it was you who'd be disappointed.” Jack stared at Sam in shock.