by Kris Jayne
“She seems pretty enthusiastic. She might like some rutting bull action.”
“It must be a very long time since you’ve bedded a virgin.”
The line went silent. Had I said the wrong thing? Shit.
Then, he spoke, “I don’t know that I ever have. I thought I had once. Now, I’m not sure that’s true. She was not the most the honest woman in the world.”
Jealousy and indignation flittered through me. Who the hell was this lying woman? Not that it mattered. It sounded like that was the distant past. “Well, you have to take your time.”
The phone line crackled with energy.
“I take my time. As I remember it, I was quite willing to take my time the other night. Someone else was in a hurry.”
“I’m no virgin,” I said, weirdly shamed even though I’d been married for twenty years. I hadn’t been a virgin on my wedding night. Terrence had been number three. A guy I dated for three months after my divorce had been number four. And Griffin made five.
“Virgins are overrated.” His silky proclamation pebbled my nipples against the soft Modal of my nightshirt. “So what does our duke do next?”
I continued. “He keeps touching her until she nearly comes but stops and orders her to the bed. She stops for a second but then does what he says. She gets to edge of the bed and turns around in silence. He follows, removing his waistcoat, pulling off his shirt, and unbuttoning his breeches. She runs her fingers over his chest, and they kiss.”
“Read the part about the kiss,” Griffin ordered.
Like Anna, I hesitated but obeyed. “‘His tongue dove into her mouth, drawing a gasp and then a moan from his bride. He commanded her tongue with long, impassioned strokes of his own, and she clutched at him. Her nails dug into his flesh, triggering sharp pains of desire.’ Then, he pulls back to kiss her face, neck, and down her…breasts. He reaches down for the hem of her chemise and lifts it over her head and off.”
Griffin whooped. “Finally, she’s naked.”
I giggled. “Yes. He kneads her ass for a second, remarking on its lushness, then strips off his breeches before toppling her backward on the bed. She squeals in surprise.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Then, it’s a flurry of kissing and grabbing and moaning until he pushes himself between her legs and asks her if she’s ready. She says, ‘Please, Thomas.’”
“Not Beauthorn?”
I chuckled, breathless. “I think they’re on a first name basis at this point.”
“Okay. We’re at the good part. He’s between her legs aaand…”
“Let’s see,” I skimmed the page. “Umm…his cock is raging with wanting her, and he’s touching her and getting ready to, you know…thrust. But he hovers there, then she begs him again.”
“Read that part.”
“Griffin.”
“Please,” he begged.
I feigned irritation. “You sound like Anna. She says, ‘Please. I want to be yours.’”
Griffin groaned. I couldn’t tell whether it was in appreciation or if he thought the line ridiculous, so I kept going.
“That’s the end of the chapter, then in the next, we’re in Anna’s head. She’s shivering in anticipation. He tells her to open her thighs more and then…slides…into, um, her.”
Anna responded with as much surprise as I did in saying the words out loud.
“She’s shocked at first but gets the hang of it. She grabs his butt and strains up to meet him. She kisses his jaw, and he keeps…thrusting. He strokes her…between them, and there’s a fever building inside her. She wraps her legs around him, and he loses it.”
“Loses it? Like his erection?” Griffin asked, outraged.
“No. He…comes,” I murmured.
“Before she does?”
“He apologizes.”
Griffin snorted. “As well he should. Some duke.”
“He makes it up to her.”
“More fingering?” His voice tensed.
“No,” I paused. “His mouth. Anna the virgin gets quite the wedding night education.” My face was on fire. My stomach quivered.
“Damn, that’s pretty hot.” Griffin said, “How often do you read these kinds of books?”
“All the time,” I admitted.
“Before bed? And then you roll over and go to sleep?”
“Pretty much.”
I wasn’t going to admit that sometimes reading the books turned me on to the point where I had to do something about it.
When I was married, I would look at Terrence and press myself against him. I’d put my hand on his back, and he knew. I kept the images in my head as we went through the sexual routine we’d honed for twenty years. Since the divorce, I handled things myself.
My neck and back ached from holding in the tension of this conversation, and at the thought of explaining how often I took care of myself, I nearly curled into the fetal position. Instead, I breathed deep and forced myself to relax. I was a grown woman. I knew Griffin wouldn’t judge me. In fact, he’d probably find it erotic.
Still, I didn’t say anything.
“Rolling over is off the table for me right now. If I had to, I’d put a hole in the mattress,” he said.
I coughed a laugh. “You must be pretty stiff to pierce a Posturpedic.”
“I did say that I missed you.”
I flipped over my paperback, pleased at his adoration. “It’s only been a few days.”
“Yes, but literally, the last time we were together, you wrapped your naked leg around mine and had your hand in the center of my chest. All I remember is being surrounded by your warmth and feeling your breath on my neck. That’s last thing I remember before I fell asleep.”
I could feel his sigh all the way from North Carolina, and liquid heat escaped between my legs. I shifted lower under my blankets. Moving helped release the vibrations of sexual tension pulsing inside me. Recalling the night he left scattered them to the corners of my bedroom.
“I wish you hadn’t had to leave,” I said, looking at the spot next to me that was as empty now as it had been the morning after Christmas. “When I woke up and you weren’t there, I felt…”
I trailed off. Abandoned was too strong a word to say out loud even though it was the perfect description for awakening to his cold side of the bed. I’d thought maybe I was overreacting, and he was still in the house. But he was gone.
I knew now that he had to leave, and he called me to explain as soon as he could. I’d forgiven him—if anything needed forgiving—but I still remembered that empty feeling.
Griffin’s breath stuttered through the phone. “I’ll regret forever that I didn’t just wake you up. After I got the call, I went back to your room. You were sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t want to wake you. Then, I had to figure out how to get here. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you until I got to the airstrip. I hoped to catch you before you woke up, but I didn’t obviously. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay. We straightened it out. It was a misunderstanding,” I whispered.
“Never for a single nanosecond do I want you to doubt how much I wanted to stay. Then, I get here, and it’s not nearly as bad as she made it sound.” Griffin pounded each of the last words, an edge of anger crept in, and I believed him through and through.
“It was only one night. I have no reason to have any expectations.”
“Bullshit,” he exclaimed. “I want you to have expectations. You deserve that and better.”
“I don’t want to make assumptions about what your spending the night meant.”
“It meant that I want to be with you,” he emphasized. “I keep saying I miss you. It’s because I do.”
“I miss you, too, you know,” I said.
“You do?” His voice lifted in anticipatory hope that what I said was true.
“I do. I mean, I feel slightly ridiculous telling you about my book.”
“I loved it.”
“I keep hearing my grandmother�
�s voice in my head, ‘He’s not going to think you’re respectable, talking like that.’ It’s insane. I’m forty-four.” I pulled the blankets to my chin.
“There’s no accounting for the voices in our heads.” His tone took on distant timber before coming back to me. “For the record, I think you’re extremely respectable. And you have a sexy voice.”
“Stop it.” I giggled again. “By the way, some of the feelings that I’ve had up until about ten seconds ago weren’t so respectable.”
“It’s all respectable, Delilah. There’s nothing wrong with sharing pleasure with someone.”
Even though I should know that for myself, hearing him say it calmed me.
“It’s hard to forget the pieces of me that have always feared living up to my name.” I never talked with people about how embarrassed I was to be named Delilah—one of the Bible’s biggest whores.
“Giving me this name is one of the nastiest things my mother ever did to me. She did it on purpose. My grandparents were very Christian. She named me Delilah to spite them. My ex-mother-in-law used to give her head a little shake every time she had to say my name out loud. She couldn’t believe her blessed Terrence had married a woman named Delilah. No matter what I did, she thought I was a loose woman.”
“What the fuck does that even mean? A loose woman?” Griffin questioned. “That’s idiotic.”
“Someone who uses her sexuality to manipulate men and get ahead. Someone who is dependent on their body for power.” I closed my eyes.
“That’s not you,” he growled. “Your name has a beautiful rhythm. It rolls off my tongue. De-li-lah.”
“I do like the way you say my name.” A breathless giggle escaped my chest.
“I like saying it.”
“And confession?”
“Tell me,” he prompted.
“I like turning you on.” I loved the power of having him hanging on my every word.
“My turn to confess.”
“What sins do you have to confess?” I asked.
“Well, I suppose it’s too late for you to take me to HR since you don’t work at the company anymore, but sometimes, I would turn down a hallway headed back to the office and you’d be walking in front of me. I’d watch the swing of your hips, and there was this sort of rhythm to it. You walk with such purpose. There was this sway to your ass, and I would say ‘De-li-lah, De-li-lah, De-li-lah’ in my head and in time to the sway of your hips. Then, I’d have to remind myself that I was your boss and that those sorts of wicked thoughts were not allowed. I turned them off because I didn’t want to be the lecher who foams at the mouth trying to bang his secretary like some terrible cliché.”
The air caught in my throat, and I couldn’t speak.
“Tell me I haven’t shocked you and ruined everything,” he said.
“You haven’t,” I squeaked. “Another confession?”
“Uh huh?” he mumbled in a naughty register.
“Sometimes I’d be sitting at my desk in the morning, and you would walk into the office in your perfectly pressed suits and with your crisp shirts. Everything about you looked freshly washed and scrubbed. Sometimes you’d lean over my desk to get mail or to look at something, and I could still smell your soap and your shaving cream. With your face next to mine, I’d have this incredible urge to just…lick you.”
“Lick me?” he choked out.
“Yes, it’s insane and so inappropriate, but you smelled sooooo good.”
For once, I was glad he was on the other side of the country. I don’t know that I could have had any portion of this conversation face to face.
His chuckle sent wicked vibrations over the phone line. “A lick definitely would have been a violation of corporate policy.”
“Your kissable jawline in the morning was a violation of corporate policy. I just wondered what your skin would feel like on the tip of my tongue,” I said.
“Well, now you know.”
“I do.”
His breath heaved into the phone. The fact that I’d gotten to him emboldened me.
“If you were here right now, I’d kiss you from your chin to the curve of your jaw under your ear.” I bit the edge of my lip, awaiting his response.
“What else would you do? Tell me,” he panted. There was a rustle on the end of the line.
“Are you touching yourself?” I whispered.
The sound of the movement stopped.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t stop,” I said, deciding in a rush to go all in. If I kept talking, maybe I wouldn’t have time to think. I closed my eyes and opened my imagination.
“I would kiss that spot behind your ear and run my tongue down the side of your neck. I’d strum my fingers up and down your back and keep kissing you like I did the other night. I’d taste the salt of your skin along your collarbone and then suck and bite you all the way down between your pecs. I’d pull my nails down the muscles of your back and then hold them at the curve right above the top of your ass until my mouth got to your belly. I’d kiss your belly button and laugh. I’d squeeze your ass in my hands and then keep going.”
“What would you do next?” The yearning ache to his voice made the muscles at my core clench.
I trailed a hand under the blankets and between my legs. All the fire I’d felt for him in the past week surged back in a focused blaze. As I spoke, I imagined that Griffin was touching me the way I wanted to touch him.
“I would lick the hard ridges of your stomach and keep going, planting kisses all along your belly. I remember the way the hairs felt on my lips, and I’d get lower and lower. I’d feel your hard cock on the side of my face. Then, I would start at the base and give you slow, wet, warm kisses along the length of you. I’d cradle your balls in the palm of my hand while I slipped the wet tip of your long, hard cock between my lips.”
Griffin groaned, and the noises on the other end of the line grew frantic.
“I’d circle you with my tongue—all around the fat tip of you and draw you to the back of my throat and just keep you there, sucking you and licking you while I rolled your balls in my hand and then I’d give them a tug. You’d that, wouldn’t you?”
He grunted his affirmation.
“Oh, God, Delilah!” His strained groan stretched like he was pulling the orgasm from his body. “Oh, fuck.”
The sizzle of his erratic breath tickled my ear and sent feathering sensations over my skin. The vibrations curled into my body, and my leg shook. I stroked harder and faster between my legs.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asked, panting.
“Yes.” The affirmation fell from my mouth, barely above a whisper.
“I wish I could touch you and kiss you,” he moaned. “I’d suck your lips into my mouth, put my fingers inside you, and rock your clit with my thumb until I could taste the scream of my name in your mouth.”
“Oh, Griffin.” I whispered his name over and over as I found my own release. Then, slowly, the world and the room around me stopped spinning. “Sorry. No screaming.”
He laughed. “That’s okay. I’ll make you scream when I get back to Dallas.”
Chapter 9
Griffin
Six days.
Only six days since I had stood on this doorstep admiring Delilah’s Christmas decorations with nervous expectation squeezing out my usual bah-humbug mood. I rang the bell and remembered the blinking light on her reindeer-sweatered boobs. That hideous holiday outfit was one hell of a Merry Christmas.
Six days felt like six months.
I rubbed my hands on the hem of my coat, clearing the inexplicable sweatiness of my palms. A flurry of steps and laughter floated toward the door. I’d only landed back in Dallas an hour ago, and even though we were going to see each other tonight at my New Year’s party, I wanted to see her before going home.
I mean, her house was on the way—kind of. I passed her exit—or the exit to the highway leading to her part of town—on the way.
It was only thirty
minutes out of the way. Forty tops.
The door swung open.
“It is you! I thought I would see you later.”
Delilah’s face flushed with pleasure. The warmth from her and the house seeped through my chest, rearranging my circulation.
“Surprise.” My laughter trembled, uncertain like a newborn deer finding its legs.
She gave her head a shake and mumbled. “Katerina looked outside and said there was a guy—”
“Some good-looking guy,” a shout from deeper in the house clarified.
“A good-looking guy who looked like Captain America on the porch. I knew you were landing, but I wasn’t sure if it could be you. And it is. I’m rambling.” Delilah pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, shook her head again, and laughed. Stepping back, she rolled her wrist in a beckoning gesture. “Come in.”
This time, she wasn’t alone. Over her shoulder, I saw a taller version of Delilah. The younger woman’s dark eyes pierced. She examined me and folded her arms across her chest.
“So this is the man who has managed to fluster my mother.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Stop it, Kat.”
“Nothing flusters your mother,” I defended. “I didn’t call first, but I thought I’d stop by on my way home so I could meet your daughter before the party.”
The desire to veer off in Delilah’s direction had hit me suddenly as I passed her exit, and at this point, I was just glad she hadn’t been out running errands or something.
I stepped through the doorway and leaned in, catching a whiff of her shampoo, something herbal and coconut-y. “Should I have called first? Or texted? I was feeling impulsive,” I whispered.
“No. It’s fine. It’s good to see you.”
Delilah placed a light kiss on my jaw and gave my upper arm a gentle squeeze. The combination of barely-there touches knocked the wind out of me.
“We’re debating whether to make another run to the liquor store,” she said, leading me into her neat kitchen. A slim, olive-complected young man leaning against the bar straightened and extended a hand with a “hello” as I entered. “This is Adrian, Katerina’s fiancé. And this is my daughter, Kat. Or Katerina.”
