Texas Sizzle Read online

  “Abel,” she whispered.

  She saw him leaning over her on the couch, his hand fondling the delicate bud of her feminine arousal. She felt his mouth touch her there, burning and bold. Her heart thundered and her mind spun.

  Oh yes, oh yes.

  In her mind’s eye, it was his hand dipping between her legs, caressing and rubbing her swollen clit. He kissed small circles against her inner thigh and with his other hand he was doing exotic things to her bottom.

  Her fingers moved in time to the fantasy as imagination and reality blurred sweetly. She could feel the orgasm starting deep within her.

  Yes, yes.

  It gathered, strengthened, built.

  She stoked the vision, feeling his large penis pressing against her, tasting his lips on her tongue. The orgasm was almost there. She was so close. Only inches away.

  Come.

  Faster and faster her fingers strummed, and she increased the pressure, in a rush now to achieve her goal. Relief. Release.

  “Abel,” she whispered and thrashed her head against the couch pillow. “Abel, Abel.”

  She imagined being with him, this man she craved. She wanted to look into his eyes while he made love to her. Wanted to stare into the core of him and touch that inner strength that made her feel so welcomed, cared for, and cherished.

  Poppy was on fire now, burning from the inside out and there was Abel watching her with ravenous eyes. His desire for her evident, his penis erect. He was pushing aside her fingers, sliding into her, dilating her, taking her.

  The orgasm hit, ripping through her like a lightning storm. Gale force and exhilarating.

  Her legs stiffened. Her back arched. Poppy cried out and shuddered as satisfaction lit up her body.

  She came hard.

  But in the end, it wasn’t nearly adequate enough. She lay on the couch panting for more. Her orgasm, no matter how good, was steeped in loneliness. She felt as if she were in a vortex, sucked empty. Dry.

  No matter how sweet the fantasy, it couldn’t make up for what she lacked.

  She wanted Abel. Needed him. Here. His body buried deep inside hers.

  #

  Across the courtyard Abel stood watching and he could not believe what he was seeing. Poppy engaged in self-pleasure.

  Was this a wet dream? Was he asleep, fantasizing that he was spying on her as she lay on her couch stroking herself? If he was, this was the best wet dream ever.

  Poppy St. John was the most amazing woman and he had ringside seating to her peep show. Not only was she sexy as all get out, but her spunky chutzpah aroused him, as well. He respected how she went boldly after what she needed. He liked how she threw herself into experiences the way he threw himself into his work. She showed him how to be spontaneous and flexible. He admired how easily she shrugged off setbacks and didn’t let problems get her down. Her free spirit magnetized him. She set him on fire.

  He should walk away—he knew that—but he also knew that he wasn’t going to. He fisted his hands, swallowed hard, and blinked against the sweat suddenly running down his brow.

  Her body glowed in the candlelight, slick with perspiration. He watched her lightly pinch her nipple with one hand while the other hand moved down, down, down.

  He’d never seen a more arousing sight. Her long fingers, the short nails painted with a clear gloss, trekking over her bare skin, headed for the place he most wanted to be. His breath came in hard, quick pants. His shaft was cement. His balls ached painfully.

  His fingers went to his zipper. All right. He was going to do it. He was going to pleasure himself. But just for relief. Just to keep himself from slamming out the door, stalking over to her apartment, and taking her right there on her sofa.

  He palmed himself, curling his fingers around the head of his erection. He imagined her soft moans. Blood shot straight to his groin. He swelled, grew.

  Her fingers moved rhythmically, her juices glistening. He could see the sweet little hood of her sex, jutting up pert and hungry.

  He held his breath, his eye glued to the eyepiece, unable to tear his gaze away from the stunningly erotic sight. She was so moist and pink and beautiful down there.

  Her fingers grew more frantic. Her back arched and she thrashed her head against the soft cushions.

  His own hand was busy, matching her stroke for stroke, imagining it was her hot little fingers on him. Pressure gathered, pushed upward. He could feel it building in his shaft. Release was imminent.

  Her soft sounds of pleasure were driving him insane.

  He moved the telescope slightly so he could zero in on her face. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip; a furrow creased her brow and she looked as close as he was.

  Faster and faster Abel stroked himself.

  And just before he came, he saw Poppy’s body jerk and he swore he saw her call out his name.

  #

  The very next evening Poppy was mildly surprised—and a lot delighted—to look out at her six p.m. hatha yoga class and see Abel lurking at the back of the room with a yoga mat tucked underneath his arm. She hadn’t really expected him to ever show up, but she was glad he was here.

  She’d been thinking of him a lot lately, especially after what she’d done in her living room last night. Her thoughts of him had been compounded when she’d listened to her voicemail and heard Keith’s voice begging her to call him back.

  When hippopotamuses fly.

  She was done with Keith. He’d caused her to be questioned by the Texas Rangers. If nothing else had come from the relationship, she’d gotten very clear on what she did not want. She’d even momentarily considered changing her cell phone number, but it seemed more hassle than it was worth. He’d only called her the one time in the three weeks since she’d seen him last. He’d get the hint when she didn’t call him back. Keith had his faults, but he’d been pretty astute.

  Abel wore cargo shorts, that in spite of their bagginess, managed to show off his muscular legs. Not the best yoga attire, but she suspected there’d be no way to get this man into Lycra. Not that she even wanted to try. He was far too masculine for that.

  In fact, he almost seemed too masculine for yoga, but she loved that he was giving the practice a chance.

  Maybe he’s not here for yoga. Maybe he’s just here to see you.

  Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

  Abel had flirted with her at the pool. He’d made an excuse to touch her. He’d eagerly volunteered to come check her hot water heater. He stopped to speak to her every time they passed in the courtyard.

  Their eyes met across the room crowded with students, and she felt the sweet pierce of his gaze.

  It bothered her, this attraction. Mainly because she knew Sienna was right. That she too easily followed her compulsions. Like last night, when she’d done what she’d done on the couch with the curtains partially open, imagining Abel was watching her.

  What if he had been watching her?

  A thrill fluttered through her at the possibility. Poppy dropped her gaze, went over to the controls for the sound system, and turned on soft, relaxing music with the undertones of waves crashing.

  In her mind’s eye, she could see the beach, smell the surf, feel the grit of white sand beneath her toes, and hear the palm trees swaying in the wind. Impulsively, she wished she were on the beach with Abel, totally alone and naked.

  Poppy gulped, struggling to get herself under control.

  Something had given way in her last night. Broken loose. Something as unfathomable and surprising as a riptide. She turned to face the class again.

  “Deep breath, everyone,” she called. She drew in a deep breath, pulling her navel to her spine, demonstrating the technique.

  The class complied.

  “Inhale,” she coached. “Hold it.” As the sound of the surf rolled out, she said, “Exhale. That’s right. Feel your body relaxing with each breath. Inhale... exhale.”

  After a couple of minutes of deep breathing, the students were looser, all exce
pt, she noticed, for Abel. He stood stiff as a soldier on patrol.

  And so was she.

  Her muscles tensed. Her throat constricted. She’d unconsciously mirrored his posture. This wasn’t good, an uptight yoga instructor.

  Concentrate. Focus.

  She loved her work. Loved yoga. Loved the calm energy the practice brought into her life. It was the perfect antidote to her hopscotch thoughts, stabilizing both her body and her mind. When it came to yoga, usually nothing threw her off her game.

  Abel Black appeared to be an exception to the rule.

  “Mountain Pose,” she called out, demonstrating the basic standing pose designed to bring the body into alignment. Right now, her own body and thoughts needed serious realignment.

  “Feel the stretch. That’s it.” She cast a glance at her students. Everyone was doing well.

  Except for Abel. He was off-balance, teetering.

  “Let your feet and calves root to the floor. Imagine you are an old oak tree, immovable, strong and yet at the same time you are lithe as a willow, able to smoothly sway in the breeze.”

  Abel wobbled, his forehead creased in a frown.

  “Now just breathe.” She paused.

  Abel finally stabilized and looked pleased with his accomplishment.

  She ducked her head to hide a smile. “Okay, very good. Onto your mats now for Butterfly Pose.”

  She got down on the floor to demonstrate the pose, sitting up straight and bringing the soles of her feet together in front of her. “Wrap your fingers around your toes and gently bring your heels in toward your groin.”

  The students followed her lead, Abel included.

  “Keeping your back straight, slowly lean forward from the waist as far as you can. Don’t force it. You should feel a good stretch in your pelvis. Great. Long, slow, deep breaths.”

  Soon the room filled with the sound of controlled, rhythmic breathing. It was bizarre—she’d never really noticed before just how erotic yoga could be.

  “Butterfly Pose not only promotes flexibility, but it also raises your sexual energy center. Don’t be alarmed if you have some unexpected physical reactions to this practice. Your bed partners will be delighted.”

  A woman in the back row sitting beside Abel tittered and Poppy had to resist rolling her eyes. Some people could be so immature about sex. It was just a bodily function. No different from any other.

  “Now, let’s shift onto all fours for Cat-Cow and inhale.”

  The class moved as one with Abel being the lone exception. He stayed in Butterfly Pose.

  “Inhale and bring your shoulders up like you’re a cat arching its back.”

  The students complied, but not Abel. What was the deal? Was the guy hung up on butterflies?

  Poppy got to her feet and moved among the students, stopping to correct postures as she went. She continued to call out instructions to the class as she got closer to Abel.

  He was still in butterfly position while the other students were down on all fours. Was he feeling too vulnerable to follow her guidance?

  Poppy reached the back of the room and leaned over to murmur, “Is there a problem?”

  He looked sheepish. “Um... sort of.”

  She glanced downward. He had his hand draped over his lap and he looked extremely self-conscious.

  Immediately, she understood what must have happened. Sometimes, when men performed the Butterfly Pose, they got a spontaneous erection. Usually, it only happened to experienced yogis whose sacral chakras were highly sensitized. When it happened to a novice, it was an indication that he had a lot of natural prowess and with the proper training could be aroused to great tantric heights.

  Poppy decided not to share this information with him. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You might think this is no big deal,” he whispered tersely, a fierce frown on his face. “But it’s damned embarrassing. I feel out of control.”

  “You have to let go of control in order to experience your real strength.”

  “What the hell does that mean? It doesn’t even make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense when you think about it. Until you let go of the need to control, you can never be fully in control.”

  “Well, it feels very inappropriate to me. I can’t... it won’t... go down.”

  Poppy became aware that the class had stopped their Cat-Cow Pose rotation and had turned to see what was going on at the back of the room.

  “Child’s Pose,” she instructed.

  In unison, the students obeyed, going facedown, arms extended, knees tucked to their chests.

  “Wow,” Abel said. “Crack that whip.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  “What?”

  “Give me your hand,” she repeated.

  “What for?” He tilted his head up at her, but kept his hands protectively sheltering his lap.

  “Do you want help with your problem or not?”

  “I don’t think you get how this works. The touch of a gorgeous woman is not going to alleviate things, if you get my drift.”

  “It will.”

  “It won’t.”

  She extended her palm. “Hand,” she insisted.

  Abel looked as if she’d suggested he stick his finger into a live electrical socket.

  “Gimme.”

  Reluctantly, he shifted his arm to block her view of his groin and stuck out his left hand.

  #

  The second Poppy touched him, the boner that had arisen spontaneously when he’d struck the Butterfly Pose got even stiffer, just as Abel had known it would.

  For the first time in his life, he was having uncontrollable erections and it was all because of her. Even when he’d been a hormonal teen, he’d been able to douse unwanted sexual stirrings by focusing his mind on somber thoughts. But not now. Not after watching Poppy do naked yoga, among other things, through the narrow opening in her living room window.

  He was a voyeur. A spy. Watching in the darkness.

  It wasn’t the yoga that had caused this graphic response. Rather, it had been the sight of Poppy’s lithe body stretching into easy contortions, her intoxicating rump in the air. The image of how she’d looked on the sofa last night was forever branded in his brain.

  He’d tried not to think about her. To focus on his breathing and all that other stuff. But hell, she’d been sitting up there in front of him, her legs spread in butterfly position and he’d been aching for her for days.

  Why had he come here? He knew he shouldn’t have come here. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to come here. But he had not been able to make himself stay away. She’d called his name in the middle of the night as she’d given herself an orgasm. He hadn’t hallucinated it. And now that he’d come here, his body was also desperate to come.

  Poppy’s nimble fingers traced over his hand, and then she pressed her thumb squarely in the middle of his palm and rubbed.

  Hard.

  Who knew the center of your palm was so damned sensitive to pressure? It felt as if every ache in his body had suddenly converged there, responsive and raw.

  “Is it going away?” she murmured.

  “No.”

  She kneaded harder.

  “That’s not helping.”

  “Relax.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey,” one of the students called out. “How long are we going to stay in this pose?”

  “Downward-Facing Dog,” she called over her shoulder. Then to Abel, she whispered, “Just breathe.”

  When she said it, he realized he’d been holding his breath. Who knew breathing was such a tricky thing?

  She ran her thumb along his palm just below his fingers and massaged each joint individually. It wasn’t the least bit sexual, but his boner wasn’t going anywhere. He could smell her rich scent—part perspiration, part cherry-scented shampoo. He could feel the heat of her body.

  “Does that help any?”

  “No,” he croaked.

&nb
sp; “Pull your spine upward.”

  That he could do. Law enforcement training had given him excellent posture. He straightened his back and felt some fringe of self-control return. And then she reached down and placed her palm against his diaphragm.

  Her hand.

  On his belly.

  Inches from his erection.

  “Inhale from the bottom of your heart,” she instructed.

  What the hell did that mean? He closed his eyes, tried to imagine his heart breathing.

  A hot flush raced through him. In a flash, he saw stars, felt silk sheets, tasted the sweetness of her lips, and felt the heat of their bodies joined in sex.

  His eyes flew open. Her face was only inches from his. Her hand still on his belly as she bent over him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  God, but she was incredible, and he didn’t know what was more disturbing—her sudden gesture of vulnerability or the fact that his erection had suddenly vanished.

  “Are you—”

  “I’m fine,” he gruffly cut her off.

  When her gaze dropped to his lap, Abel did something that surprised them both. He reached up and touched her lips.

  When those gorgeous ocean-blue eyes met his, he felt it again, except ten times stronger—a mind-bending jolt of pure sexual awareness.

  And bam! The boner was back.

  Dammit.

  “Oh, dear,” Poppy exclaimed.

  “Yo, teach, what’s up?” hollered a male student. “This dog can only go so long without barking.”

  Poppy sprang away from Abel and hurried back to her place at the front of the room. “Plank Pose.”

  Abel took advantage of the position shift. He scrambled to his feet, yanked his yoga mat off the floor, and holding it in front of him to camouflage his condition, made a beeline for the door.

  Chapter Six

  Relief sagged through Poppy as Abel left.

  Not because she didn’t like him, but because of how much she did. It was too soon after Keith to get involved with anyone. Especially a man she knew absolutely nothing about. A compelling man who’d turned her head. That was the real issue. Compulsion. It couldn’t be healthy.

  You’re imagining things. Romanticizing him. Leaping too fast. He’s no more fascinating than the other men you’ve been with.