Make Me Scream. P.J. Mellor
She wanted hot, raging, no-holds-barred sex with him.
Unfortunately she had no clue as to how to bring that dream to reality. Not without sounding like a total slut anyway.
A tall man walking along the beach several yards from them caught her attention. Fred? Her heart stumbled and then resumed its pace when she realized it was just her imagination.
“Hey! Hey!” Devon lagged back, shifting his load of white plastic shopping bags. “Wasn’t that the apartments we just passed?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the faded tile roof. “Oops. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I was just enjoying the breeze and the sights and sounds.” She directed him into the courtyard with its terra-cotta tile and colorful tiled fountain. For not the first time, she thought the Spanish hacienda style was very cozy and appealing. “The sign says there’s a pool. I thought it would be in the courtyard. Where is it?”
He walked into her apartment as soon as she opened the door and dumped the packages onto the sofa. Rubbing his back, he said, “It’s out back. It was supposed to be in front of the complex, according to Francyne, but the builder dug the foundation too close to the easement. Guess no one noticed until after the foundation had been poured.”
“Too bad. A pool with an ocean view would have been really cool.” She picked up the linens. “Which way is the laundry room? I want to wash and dry these before I put them on the bed.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I wondered why you bought detergent and softener at the bed place when it’s cheaper at the market.” He dug in his pocket and brought out a bundle of tokens. “And you’re in luck. The washers and driers don’t use money. We had a problem with kids breaking in and looting the machines. We use these little pink jobs now.” He held up the one-inch-by-two-inch plastic card the machines took instead of coins. “As a renting ploy, we even stopped selling them. So tenants can use the facility for free.”
“Why use anything? Why not just make the washers and driers work with the punch of a button?” She picked up the fabric softener and detergent bottles.
“Because anyone could walk in off the street and use them if we did that, and before you know it the machines would need replacing.”
She nodded. “Good point. Lead the way. I want to get a couple of loads going and then go to lunch. I’m starving!”
The laundry room was empty, so while Jamie made use of the washers, Devon went and picked up sandwiches at the corner deli.
A sack in his teeth and a drink in each hand, he was trying to figure out how to open the door or get Jamie’s attention when her laughter floated through the fragrant air coming through the vents in the door.
Giving up, he set the drinks down and turned the knob.
Just as he’d suspected, she was not alone. Chris and Drew flanked her like two waxed pit bulls, their laser-whitened smiles dazzling in their tanned faces.
The good news was that everyone remained fully clothed. The bad news was the fact that the men were there at all. Since when did they do their own laundry?
Reaching back out for the drinks, he stepped into the open door. “Hey, look who’s here.” He glanced meaningfully around at the empty washers. “Where’s your laundry?”
Chris’s smile widened, if that was possible. “No laundry. We saw Jamie come in here and thought we’d mosey over and introduce ourselves. Keep her company while she does her laundry.”
Devon just stared. He knew exactly what those two had on their minds and it wasn’t getting to know Jamie, unless you counted in the biblical sense.
The men pushed away from the washers.
“We were on our way to the gym,” Drew said, edging toward the door. “It was nice meeting you, Jamie. See you around.”
“Yeah. See you around,” Chris echoed, and they left.
“Is there a problem with me talking to them?” Jamie asked when he handed her a sandwich and her drink. “Is there something I should know?”
Was there? Slowly he shook his head, took a bite of his roast-beef sandwich and swallowed before answering. “No, they’re okay. I was just worried they might scare you. They can be kind of intimidating, especially together.”
She swallowed a bite of sandwich and grinned. “You’re telling me. The testosterone level was getting a bit high in here.”
They chuckled and continued eating their lunch in companionable silence.
Jamie shifted on the vibrating washer and realized it was a poor choice of a place to sit. The vibrations were doing absolutely sinful things to her genitalia. It didn’t help to have Devon sitting there, oblivious to her state, reading a sports magazine. Would he help her relieve her need if she asked him? Would she dare ask?
Devon hid behind an old magazine and tried to regulate his breathing. From his vantage point, he could see clear up Jamie’s dress to her upper thigh. It didn’t take much of an imagination to know what lay beyond.
And Devon had a great imagination.
8
Jamie crunched an ice cube and watched Devon. So immersed in his magazine, he hadn’t so much as looked her way in a good twenty minutes.
She dug another piece of ice from her cup and glanced his way. Did she dare? What if he saw what she did?
The thought of Devon watching her pleasure herself fueled her excitement. Instead of putting the ice in her mouth, she shifted on the vibrating washer and slid the cool wetness up her leg until she reached the crotch of her panties.
Another quick glance confirmed he was oblivious. She closed her eyes and pulled aside her panty leg, slipping the ice along her aching folds. Up, down, around the spot that yearned for more. The ice quickly melted against her heat. She dug in the cup for another piece and quickly returned to stroke her heated genitals until her lips and petals were numb to the touch.
It wasn’t enough.
Devon clutched the magazine in a death grip. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. A drip rolled down his nose, hanging from the tip like a trapeze artist before plopping with a splat onto the slick page. He watched the gray spot enlarge and wondered how much longer he could pretend to be so engrossed in the magazine he did not notice Jamie doing unspeakably erotic things with the leftover ice.
When she released a shuddering sigh, he almost screamed from pent-up tension.
Averting his eyes, he threw the magazine down on the blue plastic chair and jumped up.
“I, um, I’ll go get a laundry basket so you can carry everything back to your apartment in one trip.” He tripped on the leg of the chair, hitting the doorjamb with a painful thud, but straightened immediately and staggered out the door, rubbing his forehead as he made his way back home.
His toe bumped something warm when he stepped into his apartment. Had he not grabbed the snack bar counter, he’d have done a face-plant onto the tile.
Petunia blinked sleepy eyes at him.
“Damnit, dog! Why do you have to sleep right in front of my door?” Now that he thought about it, what was she doing in his apartment in the first place?
At that moment, Francyne turned her head from the couch. “You’re out of beer.”
“No, there were three this morning.” He leafed through the mail on the counter.
“That’s what I said. You’re out of beer.” She lifted the longneck in her hand. “This here is the last one.” She tipped the bottle up and drained it and then belched. “Now you’re officially out.”
He grinned and tossed all but an official-looking envelope into the trash. “Why don’t you pick up some when you walk Petunia?”
“I