by Julia Harlow
“It’s okay, baby. You did so good. Now use your hands to finish me off.”
Carly Ann grasped his slippery length and moved her hand up and down. Dwayne covered her hand with his and moved it. “Like this. I’m about to come, so it won’t take much, but I need you to pump me hard.” His head fell back again, but he kept his half-closed eyes on that naked body on her knees in front of him. “You’re my very own little goddess, Carly Ann.”
Afterward, Dwayne made his way to the bathroom to clean up. Carly Ann hadn’t ever tasted beer, but she was thirsty, so she lifted a bottle out of the carton and twisted off the cap. Her first sip was surprisingly tasty, so she took a longer draw then set the bottle down and began to collect her clothes off the floor.
“We’re not quite done yet, sweetheart.” Dwayne’s deep voice surprised her, causing her to jump.
“I should be going, Dwayne,” she said, slipping on her panties.
“They’re just going to come off again, so you shouldn’t have bothered.” He took her hands and pulled her to the bed, but she balked.
“I’ve done everything you asked, Dwayne. Isn’t that enough?”
“Oh, I could never get enough of you, Carly Ann. But this isn’t for me. You haven’t made it yet, and we’re not leaving here till you come for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Orgasm.” He slid her panties down, holding her elbow while she stepped out of them. She crawled on the bed.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just lie there, sweetheart, and relax.” He was dressed again in his shirt and trousers, and Carly Ann was befuddled that he hadn’t taken them off. Instead, he stretched his big body out next to her and began gently stroking her breasts. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations. His fingertips were rough and calloused, but his touch was light, and she had to admit it felt kind of good. Then he bent his head over her and licked one of her nipples. Her back bowed off the bed.
“You like that?” He moved to the other nipple, and the tip of his tongue licked around and around. As long as she kept her eyes closed, she could lose herself in the pleasure of his tongue. The wet heaven stopped and Dwayne licked down her stomach and worked his body in between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. Her head came up off the pillow.
“What’re you doing?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Let me taste you, honey.” He braced her thighs open with his big hands and bent his head. All she could see was the top of his tousled brown hair. When his tongue licked her there, she gasped. His tongue found the most sensitive part of her and gently sucked it. She moaned and arched her back. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed his head and pulled him into her. He chuckled.
But he wasn’t finished. He licked teasingly around her opening, and then, when she was as tightly strung as a guitar string and thought she would break, he thrust his tongue inside her. It felt so different from his big penis, pure pleasure instead of pain. His head came up, his lips glistening with her arousal. “You taste so fucking good, baby. I’ve wanted to bury my head in your sweet pussy since the first day I set eyes on you. Are you ready for me to give you the best orgasm of your life?”
“God, yes! Hurry!”
He laughed and lowered his head. He rimmed her vagina again then thrust in his tongue. But this time, he used his fingers on her, massaging that hard knot that lit her on fire. Just when she couldn’t take it anymore, she broke, and exquisite pleasure pulsed through her, taking her out of consciousness to a place where only sensation and floating existed.
Dwayne watched her tumble and seemed to enjoy it as much as she did. She was still shuddering when he started up again. “No! No more!” She was so sensitive down there, but after only a few seconds, she shattered again, her head thrashing on the pillow, her palms pounding the mattress. And then she came again.
Carly Ann never saw Dwayne Wright, Jr. after that night. Just after seven the next morning, she turned in her uniform and collected her last paycheck from the Fox & Crow. Boarding a bus, she crossed the border into Tennessee, and eventually into Georgia, and finally Florida, stopping at small towns along the way, and finding employment in upscale restaurants. She had no trouble locating rich men who were willing to help with her “college tuition.” In fact, men sought her out.
But she never quite forgot Dwayne. He’d been her first and had turned out to be caring and gentle. And he gave her the first orgasms of her life.
~*~
For his part, Dwayne searched everywhere for her, including Pine Bluff High School where they said no one named Carly Ann Applegate had ever been registered there. He badgered the owners of the Fox & Crow for any shred of information about where she’d gone. A precious, bright light had gone out in his life, and Dwayne knew he’d never give up until he found his sweet Carly Ann.
~*~
Carly buzzed her assistant. “Tanya, confirm my manicure and facial appointments for this afternoon and book a massage with Lila.”
“I’ll get right on it, Miss Thomas.” The overly eager voice of her young protégé never failed to depress her. This world was no place for sweet, innocent girls.
Chapter 10
On a sunny afternoon in late October, the jet touched down at Palm Beach International Airport. Another first, Dorrie smiled, having never been to Florida. Leaving Amalfi early this morning had been rough. It was the most glorious place she’d ever visited. And then there was Grant.
The upcoming Palm Beach Couture Week would have been exciting, but the apparent Omni snitch, blabbermouth Luke Parker, was traveling with them for the event and put a pall on their fun.
Dorrie had sent off seventy-five pages of Grant’s biography to Omni and had gotten back the closest Arianna ever came to unbridled praise for her work so far. And Arianna didn’t have a clue about what a difficult subject Grant was. Getting him to talk about himself was like asking Coca-Cola to divulge its formula. There were some days she thought she’d rather be assigned to getting the Coke formula.
But not today. Grant loved Palm Beach, especially the restaurants, and was in good spirits. He’d promised to treat Dorrie to at least four of his favorites, starting with the renowned Nicola’s tonight.
As in Amalfi, Grant had arranged for Dorrie to stay at The Breakers while the other models on the trip were staying in more modest accommodations. A white limo swept them from the airport without incident and brought them the short distance to the hotel. It was unlike anything Dorrie had ever seen. Not so much a hotel as a luxurious, expansive compound. After Grant and Dorrie’s meandering drive down a palm tree-lined brick herringbone-patterned drive, bellmen met the limo, two opening doors for her and Grant, and others rolling out brass luggage carts.
Everything was arranged by the flawless Breakers’ staff, from check-in to luggage being delivered to their rooms. This time Grant had booked her in a room on the same floor as his, ever hopeful that they could arrange a secret rendezvous.
Grant’s was a corner suite on the fifth floor, the concierge level. Dorrie was a mere two doors away in a luxurious room with an ocean view and small balcony. Once again, there were gift bags waiting for her on the queen bed. This time, however, there had been a discussion beforehand.
Grant had explained that she was denying him a simple pleasure by not accepting the few gifts he bought her. He knew they’d be attending at least two black tie events, and he also knew Dorrie wouldn’t have time to shop. So he’d arranged for outfits for her to wear to the formal events and a few other items thrown in.
He made it clear that if she didn’t accept these gifts graciously, he would become even more tight-lipped than he’d been so far. Dorrie wasn’t sure that was possible, and pointed out that the longer it took to finish his biography, the longer their “famine” would last. He just growled.
When Dorrie entered her sumptuous peach-and-cream room, she found that a valet had already unpacked for her and stowed her luggage on a top shelf of the huge clos
et. Huh. Talk about service. She wanted to open all the bags Grant had sent, but the late afternoon view lured her to the balcony.
After kicking off her sandals, she opened the door and stepped onto the balcony, the salty breeze overcoming her senses. The Atlantic Ocean would have been more than enough of a view, but there were also sailboats, jet skis, and scuba divers to watch, not to mention sunbathers on the beach below. Off to the side she had an excellent view of one of the hotel’s gorgeous pools. She heard a whistle and swiveled to her left. Two doors over, Grant was standing on one of his balconies watching her. She laughed and gave him a little wave.
When he laughed and waved back, it occurred to her that Grant didn’t laugh enough. Not nearly enough. She’d just have to see what she could do about that.
Back in the room, Dorrie saw the red light blinking on the hotel phone and giggled. One thing she could say about Grant was he was consistent. “Meet me at the outdoor bar in twenty minutes. And wear that little yellow sundress with the red belt and high heels.”
Dorrie shivered at the sound of his low, sexy voice and felt damp between her legs. All it took was his voice.
The late afternoon sun shimmered over the water as they lounged facing the silvery white beach, sipping cocktails. Gulls swooped overhead, their screeches accompanied by the rhythmic slapping of the waves.
Grant leaned back in the chair, his navy jacket falling open to reveal a white T-shirt. Dorrie marveled at his ability to combine wardrobe pieces that at first seemed incongruous, but on him looked as sexy as hell. She knew him well enough now to recognize his style was a unique blend of trendsetter and traditionalist. And she also knew he spent an inordinate amount of time studying his considerable wardrobe and deciding what to wear whenever he went out. It may have appeared as though he threw something together at the last minute, but Dorrie could attest that wasn’t the case.
She also knew him well enough to realize his obsessiveness about his wardrobe and appearance wasn’t vanity. This was the business he was in. Of course he had to look fabulous in public. He worked in the fashion industry and was passionate about it.
When she glanced up from her drink, his blazing blue eyes were trained on her, and they held a mischievous glint.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just like looking at you in that dress.”
Dorrie’s eyes followed his big, tanned hand as he took a swig from the tumbler, and moved to watch the afternoon light slanting across his sculpted cheekbones. The corner of that full, sensual mouth turned up the slightest bit.
“No. There’s something else. Cough it up, Maxwell.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I may have figured out a way to temporarily end our famine.” He squirmed in his chair, apparently adjusting himself in his gray flannel trousers.
Dorrie sighed and tucked her hair behind one ear. The man was as tenacious as a famished Florida panther hunting a white-tailed deer. Her exasperation at his seemingly never-ending enthusiasm to figure a way into her bed was becoming tiresome. “Gra-ant.” She drew his name out in two syllables for emphasis.
“No, listen. I talked to one of the hotel security detail and convinced him to alert me if he sees Luke Parker anywhere in the hotel.”
“Oh, and how much did the convincing cost you?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just start thinking about tonight after we get back from dinner.”
From the way his azure eyes darkened and the number of times he crossed and uncrossed his legs, Dorrie could tell that was undoubtedly what he was thinking about.
~~~
The white limo cruised along Worth Avenue and then eased to the curb at Via Mizner. Palm fronds lapped softly in the trees above forming a backdrop to the clear, balmy evening. The driver opened the door and helped Dorrie out as Grant came around the front of the limo and joined her. He’d asked her to wear the “little green frock” she’d worn to Bumble’s, and she would have felt self-conscious in the skimpy dress except that she was certain every eye in the vicinity would be glued to Grant.
Attention he didn’t want. Dorrie had come to realize that he was not only shy but he personally eschewed the public eye. Unfortunately, his beauty and commanding stature were magnets for males and female alike.
Tonight he wore a slim tailored dark gray suit, the single-breasted jacket with tapered sides accentuating his muscular but trim physique. The navy plaid tie and pale blue shirt perfectly coordinated with the suit. His lustrous dark hair was combed back, and his strong jaw was covered with a touch of dark stubble contrasting with that full bottom lip.
He’d often complained to Dorrie about how much he hated his nose, but she thought it was perfect for his face, patrician and slightly large. Anything smaller would have gotten lost in that ruggedly handsome face.
And then there were his timepieces. Tonight she recognized the Omega Speedmaster Professional, his go-to watch, as he held his arm out for her. But there were many, many more, she’d learned when interviewing him about his favorite things to collect: cars, timepieces, and antiques.
She leaned into him, breathing in his slightly spicy scent. Grant knew less was more in applying cologne and aftershave, so much so that she sniffed even closer, trying to capture that wonderful aroma and stash it away in her memory. Even before it had begun, she knew this was going to be an evening she’d never want to forget.
Via Mizner was fairy-tale enchanting. Tiny storefronts sported black scalloped awnings; stamped stone pots overflowed with greenery and flowers, and the white-stuccoed buildings formed the perfect backdrop. At the end of the dainty lane was the true gem gleaming in all its considerable splendor, Nicola’s.
The maître d’ greeted Grant by name, giving him a hearty handshake then leading them through the intimate front dining room to the courtyard. The setting took Dorrie’s breath away, and she felt that familiar twinge, wishing Blanche could be here.
The courtyard was nestled in between white-stuccoed buildings topped with rounded terra-cotta-tiled roofs. Magenta bougainvillea drizzled down the walls like raspberry sherbet melting on a white linen suit. Pink cloth-covered tables were dotted around the intimate space, each surrounded with black wrought iron chairs. Tiny white lights hugged the trunks of palm trees while coach lamps added to the soft lighting, and the alluring dark cerulean blue sky above them gave new meaning to the term “alfresco dining.”
~*~
Grant could see that Dorrie was absorbed in taking it all in and held her elbow until she was safely seated at their table. He also knew she would be able to describe it to her grandmother so succinctly that Blanche would almost think she’d been at Nicola’s herself.
One afternoon before they’d left Amalfi, he’d listened when Dorrie had borrowed his BlackBerry to call Blanche, and her detailed descriptions of everything from the surrounding countryside to their hotel to every meal they’d enjoyed were Flaubert-like in capturing the essence of Amalfi. He felt equal parts proud and fortunate that Dorrie was the one writing his biography, but wondered if her true talent lay in writing fiction rather than non-fiction.
His days on the world stage at the top of the modeling world were dwindling and fast. It wouldn’t bother him so much if he had the slightest clue about what he was going to do next. Night after night he’d run through every possibility and come up empty. Recently, he’d found out his name had been floated to star in an erotic romance film series, but he had no interest. He was not an actor by any stretch of the imagination.
The waiter poured the glasses of champagne he’d ordered for them, breaking his musings and her reveries. He gazed into her soft brown eyes, lifted his flute, and said, “To our night together.”
She clinked his flute and, leaning toward him, whispered, “To our night. I can hardly wait.”
His eyes grew wide then he closed them and smiled. “What are you in the mood for”—he paused for effect, grinning—“in terms of dinner?”
“Tell me about their best dishes. I imagine you hav
e the menu memorized.” At this, she glanced at the menu in front of her for the first time.
“In traditional Italian style, the menu is divided into four parts. Even with my appetite, I can never eat all four courses, so I usually choose an appetizer and an entrée. Then, if you’d like, we can share a pasta course. That way we’ll still be able to walk out of here, instead of being carted out in a wheelbarrow.” Once again, Dorrie’s giggle was the most charming sound he’d ever heard.
“So, what’ve you selected, gourmet-boy?”
“I’ll ‘gourmet-boy’ you in a minute.” He chuckled in spite of her little dig. “I’m going to start with the prosciutto di Parma with cantaloupe and honeydew melon, one of my favorites here. Then, for my entrée, I must have the herb-encrusted rack of lamb. Nicola’s is the best I’ve ever had.”
That lovely brow furrowed as Dorrie studied the menu. He was almost one hundred percent certain what she’d order, and congratulated himself when she announced, “I’m going to start with the prawns served over asparagus with crispy capers. Sounds fabulous. And then”—she paused, her slender index finger trailing the entrees down the menu page—“sautéed scaloppini in gorgonzola cream sauce. There goes my waistline.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll work it all off later.” He winked at her with a grin so goofy she threw her head back and laughed. “You want to share the saffron risotto with Maine lobster, sweet peas, and diced tomatoes for our pasta course?”
“Certainly. But you’d better call ahead for that wheelbarrow.”
Halfway through the meal, Grant couldn’t watch Dorrie sensually eat anymore without exploding in his pants. After the risotto course, he groaned. “Meet me in the loo, right now!”
“I think I remember this wise, absurdly handsome man once telling me that ‘All good things come to those who wait.’”
“And I remember the smart-mouthed, absurdly gorgeous woman responded that she was only interested in coming. Trust me. Now I know what she meant.”
