Maybe she was going too fast, because he said, “My turn,” and dumped her on her back. In a flash he was on her, pinning her down, settling between her thighs. Then he propped on his elbows and grinned down at her. “I’ll let you have your way with me later, I promise. Just not right now.”
The weight of him was delicious. She squirmed just a little, loving the way his hips fit between her legs and how naturally her thighs had parted for him. The position was wonderful and comfortable and exciting. “Why not right now?”
“Because I want to do it to you, and I’m bigger.”
So he did, kissing his way down her body and lingering at all the right places. When he finally worked down to where she really wanted him, she thought she would die from the intensity of her climax. Oral sex was every bit as stupendous as an article in Cosmo had said it was, and Jack was very good at what he did. While she was still quivering in the aftermath, he crawled up so that his penis was nudging her again. “Where’s the PartyPak? We need it now.”
“Let me up,” she panted, both exhausted and eager. “I’ll get it.”
He rolled off, and she staggered to the closet, where she had put the PartyPak on the shelf under the box containing her sea shell collection. She pulled it free and began tearing at the cellophane wrapping. Without looking, she grabbed out a condom and handed it to him.
A peculiar expression crossed his face. “I’m not wearing a purple condom,” he said, handing it back.
She looked down at the condom. “It’s grape.”
“I don’t care if it’s tutti-frutti; I’m not wearing a purple condom.”
She dropped the offending condom on the rug and took out another one. Blueberry. She looked at it and wrinkled her nose, then dropped it.
“What’s wrong with blue?”
“It would make you look... frozen.”
“Trust me, it isn’t frozen.” But he didn’t pick up the blue condom. She took out a cherry one, of a particularly violent shade of red, and shook her head.
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“Nothing, if you want to look infected.”
“Jesus.” He flopped back on the bed and stared imploringly at the ceiling. “Isn’t there a nice pink one in there? The bubble gum flavor?”
“I guess that would be the fuchsia,” she said doubtfully, taking it out and examining it. She’d never seen any bubble gum that particular shade. She sniffed it; a faint scent came through the wrapper. Definitely not bubble gum, though she wasn’t certain exactly what it was. Strawberry, maybe; whatever it was, she didn’t care for it. She rooted around in the box, but couldn’t find anything that could possibly be bubble gum flavored. “I’ve been stiffed. There’s no bubble gum in here.”
“Swear out a warrant tomorrow,” he said in growing desperation. “Try the watermelon.”
Sure enough, the watermelon condom was green. Daisy gave him an appalled look. “Gangrene.”
He lunged off the bed, grabbed the purple condom from the floor, and tore off the clear wrapper. “If you ever tell anyone I wore a purple condom—”
“I won’t,” she promised, eyes wide; then he tossed her onto the bed and entered her with a quick, hard thrust, and they both forgot about colors.
It was so wonderful being naked with a man that she didn’t even think of being modest. She simply enjoyed him and marveled at the pleasure she had been missing all these years, not just the intensity of making love but lying together afterward with her head cradled on his shoulder and his arms around her. She couldn’t keep her hands off him; every time she tried, her palms started itching, so she just gave in and stroked him to her heart’s content. “You’re so hard,” she marveled, sleeking her hand down his washboard stomach. “You must work out all the time.”
“It gets to be a habit. When you’re on the Teams, you have to stay in condition. And it isn’t ‘all the time’; I maintain with an hour a day.”
“ ‘Teams’?”
“SWAT. In both Chicago and New York.”
She propped up on an elbow. “SWAT? You mean the guys who wear black and carry big guns?”
He grinned. “Yeah, one of those.”
“And you left that to come to a little town like Hillsboro?”
“I got tired of the pressure. Aunt Bessie died, I inherited her house, and I decided I wanted to try small-town life as an adult.”
“No transition problems?”
“Just language problems,” he said, and grinned again. “Now I can almost say ‘y’all’ like a native.”
“Uh—-no, you can’t.”
“What? Are you saying my ‘y’all isn’t authentic?”
“I suppose it’s an authentic Yankee trying to do a southern accent.”
Just like that she found herself beneath him again; the man could move like a cat. “How about an authentic Yankee doing a southern woman?” he murmured against her throat.
She looped her arms around his neck. “You’ve got that down perfect.”
He turned his head and looked at the “Froot Loops” array of condoms on the floor. “I don’t want to wear purple again. How about the yellow? That would be banana flavored, wouldn’t it?”
Daisy made a face. “Euww. Not yellow.”
Exasperated, he said, “Why did you buy colored ones if you don’t like the colors?”
“Oh, I never meant to use them,” she said, blinking at him. “They were just for show, “You know. For Mrs. Clud to tell her friends that I bought them, so they’d tell their friends, and some of the single men in town were bound to hear and be interested enough to ask me out. Then you ruined that by giving her the impression we were involved.”