by Karen Booth
Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I said what was on my mind. “We should have kissed when we had the chance.”
His gaze locked onto mine. “We still can.”
I moistened my lips, eager, excited, but painfully cautious, too. “Just one kiss, just to see what it feels like again.”
“Whatever you want, Alice. Whatever you think is best.” He set his cup down. “But let’s try to make it count, okay?”
I put down my drink and took a step in his direction. A part of me wanted to turn tail and run, afraid that one kiss would never be enough. He watched me, anticipation in his eyes.
Once I was upon him, I lifted my face to his. I reached for him, getting ready. He leaned forward, and I pressed my lips to his. He tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, but I probably did, too. The two of us, warm and sweet.
He wrapped me in his arms, and our tongues met and mated.
Were we making it count? Was this the kiss we’d both been waiting for? Not by a long shot, I thought.
“More,” I whispered, against his mouth. “More.”
He cupped my ass and dragged me against his fly. I relished his hardness. My softness. The godawful hunger.
I wanted him beyond reason. Beyond logic. Beyond everything that was keeping me on the sexual straight and narrow. Forget Mr. Right. I would find him later. For now, there was only Spencer.
He deepened the kiss, and I made up my mind, dangerous as it was. I was going to sleep with him, here and now.
I pulled back and asked, “Do you have protection?”
He stared at me, as if my words didn’t quite register. Or maybe he was just trying to remember if he had condoms. I searched his gaze, antsy for his reply. I needed to get him out of my system, out of my blood, but I couldn’t forgo the protection.
He said, “They’re in the bottom of my dresser, with some old clothes I never wear. But I hope they’re still good.”
I reached for his hand and shivered from the feeling. “Let’s go find out.”
He threaded his fingers through mine and led me to his bedroom. I stood off to the side while he retrieved the condoms. He checked the expiration date on the box.
My heart pounded. “Are they okay?”
He nodded. “We’ll be safe.”
I sighed in relief, and he pulled off his T-shirt. He was already barefoot. All that was left were his pants. I was wearing a lot more clothes than he was.
He gestured for me to remove something of mine, and I slipped out of my boots and peeled off my socks. But I didn’t go any further. I couldn’t seem to manage it, not with how shaky I was beginning to feel.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m actually a little scared.” The five years I’d been alone seemed like an eternity now.
“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much for you.” He spoke gently, reminding me that I was in charge, that this was my choice.
“But I want to be with you.” The need was too great to walk away, even if I was nervous.
“Maybe I can help you relax.”
“I’d like that.” I wanted him to make it easier somehow.
He approached me, and I looked up at him, captivated by the handsome angles of his face. He kissed me, and the kiss was much softer than the one in the kitchen. I rocked forward. No one had ever been protective of me before, and especially not him.
He whispered in my ear, “Can I undress you?”
I gave him permission, and he divested me of my blouse and bra. As he thumbed my nipples, I swayed on my feet.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “But you always were.”
I had small, perky breasts and pointy pink nipples. He leaned down to take one of them into his mouth, and I cupped the back of his head.
Back and forth he went, from one of my breasts to the other, licking and sucking. He undid my jeans and slid his hand down the front of my panties. He applied silky pressure, working his fingers in tiny circles.
I gripped his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt so good. Yet I knew it was only going to get better. He continued to tease me, to arouse me, to make my head spin.
I came, slick and warm, with him touching me that way.
After it was over, he helped me out of my jeans, peeling my panties off with them. I stood naked before him, and he scooped me up and carried me to bed.
He leaned over me, and I tugged him down. I opened his jeans and put my hand inside his boxers. I felt him up, just as he’d done to me.
He groaned in satisfaction, and all too soon, he was naked and fully aroused. He put on a condom and braced himself above me. Eager for his penetration, I parted my thighs.
He entered me, and we moved in unison, in a rhythm that came naturally. No words were exchanged, only moans and murmurs and rough sounds of pleasure. He lifted my legs and pulled them higher and tighter around his body. Good thing I was bendy like that. He was agile, too, and with muscles to die for. I skimmed a hand down his abs, feeling them ripple.
We kissed, tongues tangling, teeth clashing. Together we were lethal, fast and furious, wild and desperate.
I dug my nails into his shoulders, and he thrust even harder and deeper, pushing both of us toward completion.
I didn’t need any extra stimulation. Just having him inside me, moving like a maniac was enough. I came in convulsive waves, drowning in my own sticky wetness.
He arched like an animal, rearing up during his orgasm. I watched him, thinking how magnificently primal he was.
He collapsed on top of me, and neither of us moved. Finally, he lifted his head and peeked at me through one eye. The other eye was covered by his free-falling hair.
He rolled off of me, but he stayed close, holding me, making me sigh. Feeling the almighty afterglow, I curled up against him, letting the sensation engulf me. I wanted it to last, but before I got too accustomed to it, I eased away from him.
Silence hovered in the air. He seemed confused that I ended it so soon. But as comforting as it felt, as much as I liked it, I feared that I might get attached to him.
My old lover. My new lover. Were we back to having an affair? The thought both scared and excited me.
Spencer frowned, almost as if he was trying to read my mind.
“Is the offer to eat still good?” I asked, creating a diversion. I didn’t want him to figure me out.
“You worked up an appetite?” Now he seemed amused.
I fluttered my mascara-spiked lashes, playing the femme fatale, keeping him distracted. “Sex can be hard work.”
“The hardest.” He glanced down at himself. He was still wearing the condom. “I better go get rid of this. Meet me in the kitchen?”
“Okay.” I got out of bed. He did, too, but before he headed for the bathroom, he kissed me, making me long for the afterglow again.
We separated, and I got haphazardly dressed, wearing only my blouse and panties.
I entered the kitchen and opened Spencer’s fridge. I spotted an assortment of deli meats, along with eggs and cheese and other basics. I checked the freezer and uncovered a stack of the frozen pizzas he favored. Then, as I stood there, staring into the freezer’s chilly abyss, I heard his footsteps behind me.
I spun around. He was attired in his underwear, looking rough and messy, like the bad boy he used to be. Was sleeping with him a mistake? Had I acted too impulsively?
“What do you want to make?” he asked.
I removed one of the pizzas. “How about your old standby?”
“That works for me.” He preheated the oven, setting the digital dial. “I’m going to have a ginger ale now. They’ve become my go-to since I got sober. Do you want one?”
I nodded. Anything to keep myself busy.
He went to the mini fridge in the bar where he kept the sodas. He returned with two chilled cans. He ha
nded me mine, and I opened the tab and took a hasty drink.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.
“About what?” I responded inanely. I knew what he meant, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious, even if he’d managed to figure me out.
“About us.” He studied me. “Are you having buyer’s remorse?”
I looked past him, landing my sights on the kitchen window. The glass was fogged, misty and gray. “I didn’t buy anything,” I replied, returning my gaze to his.
“You gave up your celibacy. That’s a big buy-in after five years.” He pulled a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m sorry if I’m not the right guy for you.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” It was just sex, I reminded myself, but with some sweetness tossed in. “It was nice being back in your bed. It’s what I wanted, what I needed.”
He swigged his soda with a noisy swallow. “Then do you want to keep doing it?”
I should have said no. That this was the only time we would be together. But I couldn’t bear to let him go this soon. “Maybe for a little while.”
“A little while is all I have to give, Alice.”
“I know.” And that was all I needed from him, I decided. No more. No less. I couldn’t keep worrying about getting attached, either. I had to release that fear.
He came forward and wrapped me in his arms. He was getting adept at cuddling. He nuzzled the top of my head and said, “I think you’re going to become my muse.”
I stepped back, needing to look at him, to see the usual darkness in his eyes. “Have you ever had a muse before?”
“No, but I like the idea. Don’t you?”
“It could be interesting.” Some of the most beautiful songs in the world were inspired by real live muses. But some of the most troubling were, too. It went both ways.
The oven beeped, reaching the desired temperature. I’d almost forgotten about the pizza. But now I was grateful for the reprieve. I didn’t want to think too deeply about being Spencer’s muse.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Spencer piled the pizza onto paper plates, giving us each three ginormous pieces.
“Let’s pig out in bed,” he said. “Like we used to.”
I didn’t protest. Eating in bed with him was a naughty memory I didn’t mind repeating. Besides, I was trying to relax and not keep stressing about everything. For now, there was nothing wrong with being his lover, or his muse.
We retreated to his room, sat cross-legged amid the rumpled covers and feasted on our meal, with a stack of napkins nearby.
“It’s hard to imagine you growing up so rich,” I said. “Especially while you’re gnawing your way through frozen pizza.”
He chewed and swallowed. “It’s not frozen anymore.”
“You know what I mean.” He was already on his second slice.
He shrugged. “When I lived with my aunt and uncle, we had a personal chef who made all of our meals. I wasn’t allowed to have junk like this.”
“Then it stands to reason why you enjoy it so much.”
He tore at the cheese-stuffed crust, pulling it apart and making the mozzarella seep out. “Robert and Roberta wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Those are your aunt’s and uncle’s names?” I burst into a laugh. “Seriously?”
He laughed, as well. “He goes by Rob and she goes by Bobbie. But it’s still annoying how alike they are, right down to their names.”
I popped a piece of pepperoni into my mouth. The pizza was loaded with them. “Did you have a nanny?”
“Yes, but she wasn’t very nice. Bobbie hired someone who ruled with an iron fist, and Rob thoroughly approved. Eventually I got too old for a nanny, so she went off to discipline some other poor kid, I guess.”
“Your aunt and uncle sound wretched.” That was the only way I could think to describe them. “They could have at least hired Nanny McPhee or Mary Poppins or someone who could’ve protected you.”
“Yeah, don’t I wish. It’s weird, the relationship my mom had with my aunt. They didn’t get along worth a damn, but they still saw each other all the time. Bobbie was always pressuring Mom to give up her acting dreams. The fact that Mom used to borrow money from Bobbie didn’t help. My aunt liked to throw that in my face. How irresponsible she thought my mom was. How our rent would’ve never gotten paid if it hadn’t been for her.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say to a child.” The way they’d treated him was deplorable.
“I think my mom would’ve been a successful actress, if she’d lived to see it through. She never did any TV or movies, but she was studying her craft and working toward the future.” He ate the gooey crust he’d pulled apart. “She did mostly corporate stuff, like job-training videos. Her favorite one was for a bank, where she got to play a teller who was being robbed. When she rehearsed it at home, she let me pretend to be the robber.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I envisioned him with a bandit mask over his eyes. “What about the department store work? Wasn’t that enough to pay the rent?”
“The perfume gigs? That was freelance. She tried to keep her schedule open for auditions. When she didn’t have a babysitter for me, she would take me along.”
I liked the way he spoke of her, the loving tone in his voice. “What was her name?”
“Lynnette.” He reached for a napkin and handed me one, too. “I know that your mom’s name was Cathy Birch. I saw her songwriting credits. Was Birch her maiden name?”
“Yes. She and my dad were never married. They just lived together and had us kids. That always bothered me.”
“Them not being married? Why? It was still a committed relationship, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but Mama wanted him to marry her. She used to say how it made her sad that he didn’t believe in marriage.”
“Maybe that’s why marriage is so important to you now.”
“Maybe.” To stop him from delving deeper into how badly I wanted a husband, I said, “Wait until your aunt and uncle see the photo spread of you, looking all badass and beautiful. You should send them a signed copy.”
“Badass and beautiful?” He laughed. “I hope that isn’t how the magazine describes me.” He leaned closer to me. “Now you…you’re the beautiful one.”
Fueled by his compliment, I kissed him. He pulled me onto his lap, rubbed against me and made both of us moan.
All over again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Spencer
Alice and I rolled over the bed, knocking our plates and leftover food onto the floor.
I tore open her blouse, the buttons popping. Immediately realizing what I’d done, I cursed to myself and said, “Sorry. I’ll get you another one.” I would buy her anything she wanted.
“It doesn’t matter.” She ran her nails down the front of my body, leaving scratch marks on my chest and stomach.
I went after her panties, practically tearing them off, too. Then I gripped both of her wrists, held her hands above her head and kissed her soft and slow, bringing the frenzy to a halt. She stopped thrashing and sighed against my lips.
After the kiss, I looked down at her. She was looking up at me, too, waiting to see what came next. I was still holding her hands above her head.
I released my hold on her and said, “I need your permission.”
“For what?” she asked, blinking at me.
“To go down on you.” I wanted to hear her tell me to do it. I leaned forward and whispered, “Will you let me?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Do it.” She was already arching her hips in anticipation. “You were always so good at it.”
“I still am.” Or I sure as hell intended to be. I worked my way down, breathing against her skin. I paused purposely at her navel, teasing her, making her wait.
She pushed her hands int
o my hair. “You’re probably going to haunt my dreams.”
“Just the erotic ones, I hope.”
“Definitely.” She arched her hips again, her hands still tunneled into my hair.
I put my face between her legs. She was smooth, fully waxed, and I parted her with my thumbs. I used my tongue, swirling, licking, making her half-mad.
I could feel her excitement, her honey-slick moisture, her sensual shivers. She kept moving closer to my mouth, making me aroused, too.
When she came, her entire body quavered, and I continued my foray, absorbing every last shudder.
I raised my head and kissed her, slipping my tongue past her lips. She pressed against me, and I got even harder.
She was already naked, and I was nearly there. I removed my boxers, tore open a condom and put it on as quickly as I could.
I positioned her on top, and she arched her glorious body. Cloudy light spilled in from the French doors, bathing her in a hazy glow.
I circled her waist with my hands, and she impaled herself, riding me into the kingdom of heaven—or the depths of hell—in furious pursuit of whatever this hungry sensation was. She moved slowly, taking me inch by inch. I groaned my approval, watching her hips rise and fall. She increased the tempo, taking us both to new heights.
Was her heart beating at a runaway pace? Mine was, in every pulse point of my body. I missed this feeling. I missed having sex. And she was making it so damned good. She adjusted herself on my lap, creating deeper friction.
My vision blurred; my muscles tensed; my mind slipped into caveman mode. I wanted to hang on, to let the thrill last. But I was too far gone. I gave up the fight and let myself fall, coming strong and fast.
* * *
I went into the bathroom, came back, put my boxers on and cleaned up the pizza off the floor. Alice offered to help, but I told to her stay put. I liked how cozy she looked in my bed.
I rejoined her, getting under the covers. I took her in my arms, doing the romantic thing, or trying to. It was still new to me.
She made a dreamy sound and put her head against my chest, so I figured I must be doing it right.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from this affair. Was it going to be sex-only again? Or would we go on some actual dates? I was scheduled for a business trip next week, and now I was thinking of asking her to join me. But this didn’t seem like the time to broach the subject, so I just held her instead.
