Her Valentine Fantasy Page 3

  He grinned at her, “Oh, you are my kind of woman.”

  Then he looked at her fully. “You know what the problem with us is?”

  “There’s a problem? Already?” She looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

  “Oh, yeah. A big problem.” He shook his head. “There are way too many clothes between us.”

  She nodded as though giving this problem deep consideration. “You’re right. There are. What do you suggest we do about it?”

  He hiked his hand slowly up the skirt of her blue dress, bunching the fabric with him as he went. He felt her skin tremble beneath his palm. The skin grew warmer as he traveled slowly north. “I think we should take some of these things off.”

  “That’s a very sensible idea.”

  As strange as it was, he wanted to see her, and he also wanted to drag out the waiting, tease each other a little more. She put a foot up on his lap and ran her foot slowly up and down his thigh, moving a little closer to his cock every time. He felt as if he was going to explode right there.

  He reached over, took a sip of champagne. Offered her his glass and she sipped, watching him over the rim of the glass with big, sexy eyes so she made it part of their foreplay. So much for slowing things down.

  He was going to have to move things along and take charge or she was going to have him embarrassing himself like a callow teenager.

  He put the glass down with a decided click. Took her foot off his lap and placed it on the coffee table beside the wine.

  This of course spread her legs.

  Her breath caught but she didn’t stop him, simply opened herself to him in a way that made him feel her trust. Want to take such good care of her, give her all the pleasure that he suspected she hadn’t always had in the past.

  He had no idea where the thought had sprung from, but something about the way she looked at him made him wonder.

  Oh, he was going to make it up to her for every bad lover she’d ever had, for every guy who’d ever taken his own pleasure selfishly and then rolled over and gone to sleep without satisfying her, for every guy who plunged into her sweet body without preparing her properly, for every guy who ever walked out on her on a date.

  He was determined to wipe all those memories away and give her pleasure like she’d never known. At least for tonight.

  He said, as politely as he knew how, “Could I ask you to lift up your hips for a second?” He could almost have added ma’am, so polite did he sound.

  “Of course,” she answered, just as polite, then he had the pleasure of watching her lift her hips, and he caught the dress and slipped it down, over her butt, down her thighs. She had to put her feet closer together for a second so he could finish getting the dress all the way off.

  Then he tossed the blue fabric to one of the armchairs, where it pooled like a fabric lake.

  He turned his attention back to long, golden thighs, slender feet still clad in strappy shoes that he very much liked. Her panties were barely there—some color that wasn’t beige or cream but somewhere in the middle. The panties matched the bra. Three triangles that teased rather than hid her secrets.

  Her body was a glory. Curvy, toned, soft where a woman should be soft, with enough muscle that he knew she wasn’t a couch potato. Her breasts weren’t particularly large, but her nipples were exquisite. Made even more so by the almost-covering of lacy fabric.

  The panties teased him with a triangle of curls that he was pretty sure were already damp with arousal.

  She hadn’t moved so, while he had her in that position, he said, “I’m going to have to ask you to lift your hips again.”

  “You’re very demanding,” she said, not moving an inch.

  He considered the statement. “I want to slip your panties off, but if you prefer, I could rip them off?”

  Her intake of breath was quick and sharp. He saw the muscles of her belly clench. She gazed up under her lashes. “Are you strong enough?”

  He held back his grin. She was so much fun. He’d had no idea. His hands had held his entire body weight when a line had broken while he was ice climbing on Mount Rainier. He’d scaled rock faces all over the world. He did not think a wisp of silk was going to be too much of a challenge. But he pretended to consider.

  “I could try.”

  Again that quick in and out of breath. The ripple through the belly. He was rock hard and aching for her.

  “Good. Because I really don’t feel like lifting my hips again.”

  He moved closer, close enough that he could smell her arousal, see the pink of her nipples darkening. He said, “Then you’ll have to open your legs again.”

  She made a sound he’d never heard before. Like a sigh, a cat’s meow, and a giggle all mixed up in the blender. Naturally, he didn’t make her do all the work herself. He circled his hand around her ankle and lifted her foot and put it back on the table beside the dark green champagne bottle.

  He took the other foot and rested it on the back of the couch.

  Then he settled himself between her thighs.

  She was spread wide for him. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, as if he was a flight attendant and she was settling into her aisle seat.

  “Uh-huh,” she answered, so breathless he could barely hear her.

  “Good. Now let’s see about getting rid of these panties.”

  He wanted to rip them right off her but he didn’t. He took one finger and slipped it beneath the fabric. As he’d guessed, she was already wet and ready. Good. Excellent. He let his finger slide, right over her, brushing her clit so she shifted and moaned.

  Enough already. A man could only take so much.

  He took his two hands, started at her knees, trailed them up her thighs to where they hit fabric. He grabbed the scrap of nothing that drifted over her hip in both hands, pulled once, heard a satisfying ripping sound. Her hips jerked.

  He smiled.

  Did the same thing on the other hip. And the panties were no more.

  He peeled the layer of lace away and there she was before him. Open, hot, wet.

  He dipped down. Tasted her. And knew no pastry chef on earth could ever make anything taste more like sex than her salt-honey.

  “Oh,” she cried. For a second he felt her thighs close against him, but he continued lapping, and her legs fell slack.

  Her moans and cries were the sexiest sounds he’d ever heard. He continued pleasuring her with his mouth. She tried to stop him once, putting her hands on his head. “Wait, I want you in me,” she cried.

  He took her hands in a firm grip. Glanced up at her. “We’re only starting,” he promised, and went back to loving her with his mouth.

  He could taste her arousal, knew she was close. When her hips began to dance, he followed her lead as she thrust mindlessly against him. He pushed a finger inside her and she cried out. He stayed with her until her cry exploded and he felt wetness flood his tongue.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jessica felt as though she were a pleasure surfer riding wave after wave. But still she felt empty. She could barely form words but she tried. “Want. You. Inside.”

  Best she could do. She had condoms, too. Where the hell were they?

  He was looking at her in near panic and she realized he hadn’t brought protection, either. “Condoms, purse,” she managed to say. It had to be there somewhere. But she sure as hell couldn’t move.

  “I’m on it,” he said. As he stood she realized he was still wearing his pants, and the massive erection he was sporting was pretty much all that was holding them up.

  He grabbed her purse, handed it to her, while he finished stripping off his clothes.

  She fumbled, found a stack and shoved the whole thing toward him. She couldn’t have ripped a perforated line. Not in a million years. She didn’t think any of her muscles or tendons or nerves or brain cells were currently working on anything but staring at this beautiful naked man in front of her.

  He was so gorgeous.

 
The tanned skin, the muscles, the long legs, the lean hips. The cock!

  Her insides were still quivering post-orgasm. She felt both deeply satisfied and needy. As she watched him sheath himself with quick efficiency her inner trembling only increased. Then their eyes connected and she forgot to breathe.

  He settled once more between her legs. He fitted himself to her and then, holding her hips in his hands and gazing deep into her eyes, he pushed himself gently inside her.

  “Oh.” The word spilled out of her. He was stretching her, filling her, thrilling her. Mindlessly, she lifted her hips to take in more of him, deeper. She gripped his hips and pulled. She felt so needy. She couldn’t even explain it, only knew that on some basic level she had to have him.

  He seemed to understand or maybe he shared her sense of desperation for he pushed all the way into her. Then, taking her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply.

  She could taste herself, taste him, and suddenly the pair of them went crazy. He thrust hard and deep inside her and she wanted more. She grabbed his hips, pulling him into her even as she thrust up, pushing against him until she could feel herself building again.

  His breathing was ragged, and she could feel heat building; when she ran her hands up his back, ridged with muscle, she felt his sweat.

  Words clogged her throat, she could only feel. She reached up, kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. They were out of control, both of them, moaning and thrusting and grabbing at each other. The tempo increased, and she was panting as though in the last leg of a marathon. Every cell in her body was buzzing with electricity.

  And then, she felt the pressure rise, unbearably, so it had to blow.

  Her moans turned to cries, and she exploded again.

  He thrust once more, again, and she heard his groan, felt him shudder inside her. Then, all those rigid muscles seemed to relax at once and he slumped, moving her body so there was room for both of them on the couch. Side by side. Touching from chest to feet.

  When they had their breath back, he rolled away and headed for the bathroom to deal with the condom. She padded naked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

  As she moved, she felt the little post-climax pulses still. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so relaxed.

  She heard the toilet flush. He emerged, as naked as she, and for a moment they looked at each other.

  “That was—” She tried to find words. Couldn’t. So the “that was” echoed around them for a long moment.

  Then he stepped closer. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.” And he kissed her.

  She wouldn’t have believed she could become aroused again. Not for a few days anyway but, amazingly, she felt excitement build again as he kissed her. And she felt him grow hard as their bodies rubbed together.

  He moved and she moved with him and, suddenly, they were at the edge of the king-size bed and he stopped kissing her long enough to flip back the duvet. Then she was falling back, back onto soft cotton sheets that felt cool against her overheated skin. He followed her and she felt the rough hairiness of his legs as they brushed against hers, the strength in the arms that held her.

  She’d left the curtains open but all the lights off, so between the little bit of moonlight and the reflected light from all the high-rises it wasn’t completely dark, and she could make out shapes and shades.

  He was both a shape, long and solid beside her, and a shade, a sepia tone, maybe. She’d been as intimate as a woman can be with a man and she didn’t even know his name.

  Ha, she thought.

  He’d brought the other condoms and placed them on the side table. She reached for one. Sheathed him with her two hands, making a caress of it, and then she straddled him.

  He was her nameless boy toy, and she was going to play.

  When they’d worn each other out and she was lying with her head on his damp chest, her hair a tangle and her body boneless with a combination of pleasure and exhaustion, she said, “Do you think we should introduce ourselves?”

  The rumble of his chest suggested he was laughing silently. He put out a hand, the same hand that had recently thrust inside her most private places. “I’m Sam.”

  She put out her hand, the one that had held his cock and grasped his butt in passion, urging him to thrust harder. “Hi. I’m Jessica.”

  They shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Jessica.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

  A minute ticked by. “So, are you in Seattle on business?”

  Of course, he thought she lived somewhere else. How was he to know she lived in Belltown? She’d stayed in the hotel to be right on-site for the trade show and convention and then she’d stayed on an extra night so that she wouldn’t have to rush home and change and drive back into town for her date.

  She could tell Sam that she lived locally, but she kind of liked this little fantasy she had going. Two nameless strangers, a hotel room, an affair that only lasts a night.

  Maybe she’d feel differently in the morning, but right now she loved the way this made her feel. So she said, “Yes. I’m here for a conference.” Which was perfectly true. “I’m an event planner.”

  He nodded. “Where’s home?”

  “I’m from Chicago.” Again, perfectly true. She was from Chicago. She simply didn’t live there anymore. She’d moved to Seattle a year ago to take her current job.

  “Long way from here.”

  “It is. Though there are plenty of direct flights.” Shut up! Why had she said anything so stupid?

  He only nodded.

  “How long have you been a waiter?” she asked, to get off the subject of her supposed home in Chicago and how easy it was to get there.

  He shifted and looked at the ceiling as though his résumé might be pasted there. “On and off, since I was in college.”

  “On and off?”

  He shrugged his impressive shoulders, which made her head ride up and down. “It’s a job with a lot of flexibility. I’ve traveled, done some trekking, lived a few different places.”

  Oh, how she envied him in a strange way. She’d been so career focused the most she’d ever managed to travel at one time was two weeks. And, overachiever that she was, she’d crammed so many cities, from London to Moscow, into fourteen days that they all sort of ran together in her head like a European mash-up.

  How many times had she thought how nice it would be to sit in that café where nobody famous ever wrote a novel or hatched a plot, or got murdered? Simply sat to enjoy a lingering cup of coffee and to watch the world go by?

  “I envy you. Do you have any more big trips planned?”

  He drew in a breath, then seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. “I’m pretty settled into my routine right now,” he said simply. She didn’t think it was what he’d originally planned to say.

  She placed her hand on his naked belly, knowing he’d be gone soon. This was weird and awkward having a get-to-know-you chitchat while they were naked. He’d heard her cries of ecstasy and didn’t even know her last name.

  Not that she particularly wanted to know his last name. But she wanted the intimacy of their talking to match the closeness of their physical interaction.

  Here they were, lying in her bed in a tangle of sheets getting their breath back. What went on behind those dark eyes? What were the memories and experiences she’d never know, never share? She wanted to talk about something personal. She said, “Tell me a secret. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Something he’d never told anyone? Sam understood, or thought he did, that she needed some kind of emotional intimacy to match the incredible power of what had just happened between them physically.

  He wanted to oblige, but he didn’t have a lot of secrets that weren’t boring shit like PIN codes.

  He hadn’t told her that he owned Benedict. He’d let her go on thinking he was a waiter. Why had he done that? He had no idea. Except that he kind of liked the freedom. Fo
r some reason he couldn’t fathom, people took him a lot more seriously now that he owned a restaurant than they had when he served food. And tonight he really didn’t want to be taken seriously.

  Besides, there was nothing secret about the fact that he owned a restaurant. It wasn’t a cover for money laundering or working in the CIA or anything. If she searched online for Benedict she’d see his picture. No. Something more confidential seemed required.

  “A secret, huh?” He gazed up at the ceiling again, thinking. He could hear her soft breath slowing down as her heart rate returned to normal, feel her warm skin against his, her curious eyes on him as she waited.

  One thing popped to mind, but he felt foolish mentioning it. But, when she looked at him with those eyes that still had a dreamy edge to them, he knew he’d tell her anything. “Okay,” he said, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but a couple of months ago, I faked an orgasm.”

  She laughed, a delighted sound with an edge of sexiness that had things stirring again down south. “I’m not falling for that. Come on, give me a real secret.”

  “Honestly. You are the only person I’ve told. And I’m seriously threatening my manhood and my rep by telling you. I’m not proud of it, but I faked it.”

  She rolled over so she was facing him, and as the sheet shifted he was treated to a tantalizing drape of cotton that wrapped under her breasts, making her look like a Greek goddess. “You can’t be serious.”

  “It’s not only women who fake it.”

  “And how exactly would you go about faking a male orgasm?” she asked, still disbelieving but willing to play along. “What about the, um, emission?”

  Well, he’d opened up the subject, he supposed he was going to have to spill. “The secret to the successfully faked male orgasm is in the acting.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Something you women know all about.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, but there was a little smile on her lips as she said it. “How would you act something like that?”

  She seemed so fascinated that he indulged her. “A little extra thrusting, a few loud moans, a deep, wet kiss. That’s the acting part. And then, a quick whip-off of the supposedly full condom, a speedy trip to the bathroom and you can flush the evidence. No one’s the wiser.”