by Ginny Frost
She grabbed the tortured fabric and pulled it down with enthusiasm. His cock bent with the cloth for a brief second before springing back right before her face. Her attention focused on the most perfect eight inches she’d ever seen. The compulsion to be naughty ran over her again. On impulse, she planted a warm kiss on the top of the head. He gasped but didn’t pull away.
Boldness rolling over her, Jo cautiously opened her mouth and took some of him in. He tasted like heaven. Her shyness and inexperience dropped away, and she gave Brett her all. Considering she’d only done this once before with minor success, he seemed to enjoy himself.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Damn, Jo,” he whispered as she grazed him with her teeth.
The feeling of fullness, knowing he was completely at her mercy, spurred her on to try other things—flicking her tongue on the head, letting him go deep, and a little hum here and there.
It wasn’t long before he tugged at her hair. “Jo, you better slow down if you want… the whole experience.”
She glanced at him and enjoyed the flush on his cheeks.
He groaned, thrusting into her. Guess seeing my mouth full of his cock changed his mind. He wrapped his hand around her head and pushed.
She allowed him for about a second. But it was her fling, and she wanted some, too, before he finished. She pulled back, letting go of him with a pop. His eyes glowed dark and wanton.
She grinned, rolling on the bed, away from him and onto her back. With a quick wiggle, she removed her pants. Bravado prevailed tonight. “My turn.”
Man… conservative, sheltered Josephine demanding to be serviced by the building handyman… She crooked a finger at him, loving her own audacity.
He obliged, with a vengeance. He crawled onto the bed and pushed her legs apart. Probably taking a page from her book, he dove in with gusto and little prep. The boldness of it put her on the edge in seconds—really on the edge, not the fake “I think I’m having an orgasm” like every time before.
It was a heart-stopping, full-body, brain-exploding experience. Josephine let out a scream and then a resounding moan that went on forever. Her brain soared with delight and her body tingled everywhere. She flopped on the mattress, spent.
***
Brett chuckled, listening to Jo go on and on as she came. There was nothing like a woman who wasn’t afraid to express herself. Her body was perfect, her face divine, but the unbridled way she’d come at his touch got him harder still.
He snagged the condom from the nightstand. With infinite care, he rolled the latex on, while Jo writhed on the bed in pure bliss.
Nice.
He didn’t always have such an effect on women, but sometimes things clicked. And tonight things clicked all over. He touched her leg to attract her attention.
She seemed to swim up from a dream. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice heavy and thick.
“You ready? Still wanna…” He held out a hand, not wanting to say more, but consent was a must.
She didn’t answer, merely pressed her body against his and kissed him. Full, luscious lips pressed against his for several seconds before they parted.
Brett had kissed many women in his thirty-four years, but never like this. The kiss was deep, connected, and soul-sucking. He could kiss her forever. And not some high school make-out session, but a truly connected act between two adults. When she broke away, he mourned the loss of her lips.
“Yes, Brett,” she said, breathy, sexy, and demanding. Their lips met again as they folded onto the bed, their bodies entwined.
He wanted her, wanted to pound her into the mattress with a Tarzan yell, but more than that, he wanted to kiss her till dawn. But the ache in his balls, the demand of his body became too much. He slid his kisses sideways to her jaw, her neck.
“Ready?” He almost couldn’t form the words. In response, she wrapped her legs around his back. He entered her in one stroke. His brain sizzled, and his skin fried as her body closed around him. He forced himself to slow way the hell down before he came immediately.
They both lay motionless for a good minute, kissing while connected. Then his body kicked into overdrive. He moved with the speed and endurance of an eighteen-year-old.
And she went with him, every move, every thrust. The woman was a goddess. And when she came again, with another scream and a tight squeeze, he fell into bliss with her.
***
Josephine loved the sounds Brett made as he came, manly grunts and quiet curses. None of the pathetic excuses of what’s-his-name or the whimpers and tears of Dexter.
All man.
He collapsed over her, but not on her, resting his head on her stomach, his warm breath coming in pants across her skin.
She could get used to this.
Gently, he rolled away, leaving her puddled in the center of the beautiful bed. Her mind floated in the bliss. Only one thought broke through—so much better than a stupid ski weekend. A handsome man, who treated her like a real person. She curled into him, loving the feel of his body against hers. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined taking the man to her room. Well, in her wildest dreams…
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
God, she wanted to roll up in his deep voice and stay there for a week. Inviting him to the room seemed bold and reckless, and the best decision she’d made in a long time. Life was good.
“Oh, nothing,” she answered, turning on her side. “This is a pleasant way to spend a Friday afternoon.” She reached over and dragged her fingers down the taut, hard muscles of his back. Mmm, round two might be in sight.
She blinked, letting flashbacks roll through her mind. Part of her wanted this to be the start of something. Maybe she’d blow off the party and curl up with Brett for a few days. A grin spread across her face. It was exactly what she wanted.
“Hey, Brett…”
The lock of her door rattled, and Jo sat up with a gasp. Someone breaking into the room? Thank God Brett was here.
He glanced at her, and she whined low, her eyes about to pop out of their sockets. He laid a finger on his lips and stood, snagging his jockeys on the way.
Snatching the sheet, Jo pulled the covers to her neck as the lock rattled again.
Brett crossed the room. At the door, he dipped into his tool belt, snagging a hammer.
Jo gulped. Fear filled her gut. Who would have the audacity to break into a hotel suite in the middle of the day?
Brett twisted the bolt lock and wrenched the door open. His broad back covered most of the doorway, blocking Jo’s view. In a deep voice, he asked, “Can I help you?” He sounded so intimidating and manly, she would have swooned if fear hadn’t clutched her heart.
A familiar voice sounded from outside. “Who are you?”
Chapter Eleven
Jo scrambled from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her toga-style. She flew to Brett, grabbing his arm. With a tug, she forced him to lower the hammer. Then she turned to the would-be intruder.
Erica Lockwood, her mother.
“Mom…” she said, letting her disappointment fill her words.
Erica sucked in a breath, her hand at her throat. “What are you doing in my room, you beast?” She swatted at him with her purse, pushing her way into the suite. “And where are your clothes? You foul…”
Jo cut her off. “Mother!” She stepped in front of Brett, who looked ready to raise the hammer again. “What are you doing here? Were you trying to get into my room?”
“My room,” she corrected with an air of shock. “I paid for it, Josephine. Therefore it is my room, child. Now, what is he doing here?” When she reached the couch, she spun dramatically. Her eyes darted from Brett to the walls to the furniture to Jo, her nose wrinkling.
Jo read her mind. Good, but not good enough. Never good enough. Nothing was—not the beautiful antiques, the rich decor, or Josephine.
When their eyes met, her mother's face twitched in disgust. “Where are your clothes, my
daughter?”
Jo sighed, ready to close the door when a cough stopped her. Dexter Charlton stood in the doorframe, his lips pursed as usual.
Dear Lord in heaven. She brought Dexter. The weekend just went from bad to worse.
“Come in, Dexter.” Jo waved him in, too polite to let the dweeb hover in the hallway. He smiled, flashing his buck teeth, and shuffled into the room. The door closed behind him, slamming shut like a jail cell.
“Mom…” she began, ready to argue about being an adult, and privacy, and…
Her mother cut her off. “Get your clothes on, young lady. And you”—she pointed at Brett—“need to leave my room.”
A bolt of frustration and anger exploded inside her. Her room, her moment with Brett, her life, her chance… A boldness rolled over her. She refused to lose Brett because of her mother.
“No, Mom, you get out.”
Mother blinked, taken aback. Dexter raised his eyebrows, the first movement from him.
Brett smirked. “Want me to throw her out?”
Jo smiled at him, already in love. Finally, someone who cared about her wishes. But she wouldn’t subject the man to her mother if she could help it. Not when it was so new.
With resignation, she said to Brett, “No. Why don’t you get dressed and head downstairs? I’ll deal with this.”
His twisted lips said, not impressed.
“I think I’ll wait,” he replied, crossing his arms over his bare chest. And the hammer still rested in his hand. Her very own Norse god.
Damn.
Mom screwed up her face, her anxiety plainly displayed. “Please, young man”—her tone teetered on the verge of pathetic—“This is none of your concern. Get dressed and leave immediately, or I’ll call security.” Her lips tight, she fidgeted her fingers, lacing and unlacing them.
Dexter stood like a statue, saying nothing.
Brett laughed. A beautiful, sexy sound.
Mom and Dexter needed to go now because Jo wanted to reward Brett immediately.
“Ma’am,” Brett said politely. “You and your son”—Jo giggled, and Mom scoffed. Brett narrowed his eyebrows but continued—“need to leave. We know who rented the room.”
He crossed to the door and opened it. As he passed Dexter, he placed an arm on the man’s shoulder, ushering him to the exit. “If you wanna talk to Jo, I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk with you in the lobby.” He held out a hand for Erica, who ignored it.
Worry colored Erica's entire body, but her mouth stayed closed in a tight, lemon-sucking scowl. And miracle of miracles, the woman walked out without another word.
Once outside, she said with a sliver of disquiet, “Come to my room as soon as you’re dressed. We will discuss this…”
Brett shut the door and snapped the lock.
He turned, his hands on his hips. “Okay.” He stooped to pick up his clothes.
The burn of embarrassment consumed Jo. “I’m so sorry, Brett. She’s… well…” She waved a hand at the door. “A little overprotective. A lot overprotective. I’m sorry if she made you feel…”
He smiled as he put on his clothes, but he left the shirt open. “Like the hired help? It’s not the first time I’ve been caught with my pants down. Don’t worry.” He paused, his lip caught in his teeth for a moment. “I didn’t like the way she talked to you.”
His gaze searched the room. He looked everywhere but at her, as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he shrugged. “I’ll get out of your hair, so you can deal with that.” He waved a hand at the door, his bare chest distracting her thoughts.
Jo bit her lip, not wanting Mom’s intrusion to end what might have been days of bliss. “Again, I’m sorry, Brett. She’s very controlling, and I… well, I’ve been asserting my independence, and she doesn’t like it. She’s upset. I didn’t mean to mix you up in…”
He held up a hand, stopping her babble. “Not mixed up. No worries.” He said the words lightly, but they stung deeper than she expected. The whole thing rushed by too fast. She wasn’t ready for it to be over.
She ran a trembling hand over her forehead before meeting his gaze again. As their eyes locked, she remembered her place. “Again, I’m sorry, Brett. Thank you for…” Awkwardness fell over her like a blanket. She walked toward him, her hand held out for a shake.
He grabbed it and pulled her close, pressing her sheet-wrapped body to his bare chest. He paused for a millisecond, then kissed her, one of those deep, soul-sucking kisses he’d been laying on her all afternoon. Her toes curled into the carpet.
As he broke the kiss, he put a knuckle under her chin. “If you’re staying the weekend in her room…” The word “her” dripped with sarcasm, and she smiled. “I’ll be around working on the west wing. The balcony door might stick again.” He winked.
Grabbing his tool belt, he flipped the lock and headed into the hall. The click of the door shutting echoed through the room.
He was gone.
She stood staring for a few seconds, willing him to come back. Hadn’t they just shared something wonderful? Too wonderful for him to leave so quickly?
Her heart sank.
She sat on the bed, a myriad of emotions running over her. Confusion and anger blurred her thoughts, and nothing seemed real. Tears stung at her eyes, both for Brett’s leaving and for her mother’s behavior. But one thought prevailed: Prince Charming has left the building.
~*~
Once she composed herself, Jo dressed in a rush, grabbed her key card, and headed out the door. Who should she go after first? Brett, to apologize, or Mom, to teach her some lessons about privacy? Conflicted, she lingered by the elevator.
“In here, Josephine.” Her mother’s voice rang in the hallway.
Jo’s shoulder rose to her ears, and her mouth turned into a grimace. A wave of embarrassment and trepidation rolled over her. The conversation with Brett would have to wait. Mom, as always, came first. Jo spun on her heel and marched toward the open door just down from her room.
Erica stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, her chin high, her eyes narrowed.
Jo wanted to smack that chin, but what could she do? Her mother had sacrificed so much over the years. The least Jo could do was be a dutiful daughter. Slapping your mother, no matter how she embarrassed you, was never a suitable option.
Head down, she shuffled past her mother into the room. It mirrored her own, with less acreage. The bed sat to one side, an overstuffed couch on the other. She threw herself on the seat, wondering how to have this conversation.
Her mom took her time closing the door and locking it. At length, she crossed the room and sat daintily on the bed. After what felt like six hours, she looked up at Jo. Her expression held disappointment and sorrow.
Jo sighed, plunging in rather than waiting for the reprimand. “Mom, he’s…”
Her mother’s hand flashed up in a millisecond. “I don’t want to hear anything about that man. I’ve let you down. I should’ve driven up with you and shared the room. I never dreamed…” She let the words taper off, her hand pressing into her chest.
Conflicting emotions battled inside Jo. Part of her wanted to laugh at her mother and tell her off. Jo could sleep with whoever she wanted. But the other half of her felt the shame and embarrassment of being literally caught with her pants down.
And this woman who’d cared for her through twenty-plus years of childhood illness. How could she be angry or mean to her? She meant well, wanting to take care of Jo. Guilt crushed her like a bug.
“Mom, I…” God, what could she say? Sorry? But she wasn’t. And at her age, she shouldn’t have to explain herself or her sex life. “We met, and we…”
“We have a dinner tonight with Dexter, his family, and several other guests. I’ve arranged for a private dining room. I hope you brought something appropriate to wear.”
And that was the end of that talk.
Jo sunk into the couch. Her mother was a force of nature, and there was no moving her off course once she set her mi
nd to something.
Jo tried anyway. “He’s nice, and he’s…”
Her mother stood and wandered to the door of her balcony. Jo almost warned her about loose handles but closed her mouth.
“You have thirty minutes to get ready. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” With her back still to Jo, she crossed her arms and raised her chin again. A dismissal.
Jo raised herself from the couch. She should blast her mother and tell her what a nice guy Brett was. Otherwise, she could ignore her mom and blow off the dinner. But she wouldn’t. The guilt would eat her alive.
Yes, she had submitted her game and was almost free to go, but the weekend… It would be their last big holiday party. The last of a tradition that began when Father passed. He’d been gone for over twenty years. Time to move on, but for one more night with the two of them surrounded by friends. How could she deny her mother just a few more days before she flew the coop?
***
Brett hesitated before hitting the dining room for supper. He hadn’t heard from Jo since he’d left her room. Of course, she didn’t have his number. But the front desk would tell her how to get ahold of him, wouldn’t they?
Guilt tied his stomach in loopy knots. It wasn’t the first time a parent had shooed him out of their kid’s room, but this time seemed different. He didn’t know Jo’s exact age, but she wasn’t some kid. And he was not taking advantage of her. The whole situation was mutual.
So, why hadn’t he called her a few hours later to check on her? Because I’m a dumbass. More regret stirred inside him. It was kinda her call. But…
This was not how things worked in his universe. Normally, her mother storming in would be an understandable end to the affair. But Jo lingered in his thoughts, almost blinding him with feelings, ideas, and daydreams. It all seemed so different, so new.
In the dining room, he noticed a barrier set up on the far side. The Excelsior didn’t have those modern sliding walls like most hotels, because of the weird tiered-seating arrangements. (The room needed a complete overhaul, but that was an argument for another day.) From his guesstimate, about twenty people sat behind the makeshift wall for a private meal. Through a space in the panels, he could see his Jo at the head table.
