Moving_Violations by Christina M. Brashear

expression. “I’m no chauvinist. “
    “Then why?” she questioned him roughly. “Give me one good reason why you can’t call me by my name.”
    “Takes too long.” He shrugged, anticipating the fireworks.
    “Excuse me?” Astonishment covered her expression.
    “Well.” He turned so he faced her, one arm over the steering wheel, the other laying along the back of the seat as he watched her. “It’s like this, sugar, I get kinda short on breath just remembering how hot and tight that sweet little pussy of yours was. I can’t get all those syllables in your name out of my mouth. So we’re stuck with Becca.”
    Her mouth dropped open and she blinked in angry amazement.
    “That’s ridiculous,” she muttered crossing her arms over her breasts.
    “Naw, that’s just horny,” he sighed. “Real bad horny, sugar. I can’t forget how good it was. Have you forgotten?”
    Oh no, she hadn’t forgotten. It was there in the sudden flush of her cheeks, the over bright awareness in her eyes. She remembered, and she wanted more. He knew she did.
    Because he was burning alive for it, and refused to consider he was in it alone.
    “Sure you don’t want to invite me in?” His hand moved until his fingers were touching the softness of her hair. “I have a great cure for a headache.”
    He watched her, mentally begging the good Lord above that she would give in and say yes. At the rate he was going, he was going to expire from lust. Hell of a way for a man with a hard dick to have to go. And the part that really irked him, mindless, 51
    Lora Leigh and Veronica Chadwick
    stubborn bastard that his cock was, that it refused to consider any other warm wet haven than that of Becca’s. He was addicted. He sighed, forlorn.
    “You’re moving too fast for me, Jackson,” she whispered, shaking her head, suddenly serious. “I thought I remembered things moving slow and easy in the South? I need some space.”
    Jackson shrugged. Hell. A woman that had to think about it first.
    “That’s fine too, sugar,” he said easily, though he wanted to grit his teeth. “Come on, let me walk you to your door and do the gentleman thing here so we can both get some sleep. It’s been a hell of a day for you.”
    He got out of the car and moved quickly to the passenger side. Opening the door there, he reached in to grip her arm lightly and help her out. She was warm, and soft. He suppressed his groan. Dammit, he wasn’t going to beg.
    Her porch light was on, as was a light in her little kitchen. The house looked homey, safe.
    “Got your key?” They paused by the door.
    Rebecca nodded as she pulled her key chain out of her purse and fitted the key into the lock. Opening the door, she paused on the threshold.
    “Thanks for bringing me home, Jackson,” she said softly. Her cultured voice, soft and sweet, washed over his aroused body.
    “Yeah well, I might have had a reason other than just your comfort in mind.” He grinned down at her, watching the answering amusement that came to her eyes. “Go on to bed, sugar. You’re worn out.”
    He bent to give her a soft, gentle kiss goodnight. His lips lingered, though, sipping at the soft curves of her lips as his body heated. Damn, she tasted fine, he thought. Soft and silky and damned hot. His hand cupped the side of her head, his tongue tracing her lips, staying light, gentle. She was tired and sore, and he knew she felt she needed space.
    He could give her space. Sure he could.
    His tongue slid slowly past her lips, dipping into her mouth as she whispered a sigh of longing against him. Her hands were at his chest, her fingers splayed flat over the white cotton of his shirt as her head tilted for him, her lips opening as her tongue touched his. She tasted as sweet as candy. As hot as fire, and he knew he could never get enough.
    Jackson forced his body back from her, groaning in torment. Damn, he was sinking fast.
    “Get your ass in that house before I fuck you on the porch,” he sighed,