An All Night Man

by Brenda Jackson

  He drawled softly, “You make one hell of a cowboy.”

  Olivia couldn't help but smile, as emotions flooded her stomach then drained directly to ache between her legs like a radarguided missile. “That's the best compliment I think I've ever received.”

  Clark laughed softly and moved toward her. For the first time that day, Olivia had no intention of going anywhere. She was exactly where she wanted to be. This whole day had been a fantasy, one day where she wasn't Olivia, the conservative English literature professor, but she was a woman who was wanted by a man. A man, who happened to be Clark Stone, but more importantly, a man she was in love with. Olivia took a deep breath when she realized it was the truth. She was in love with Clark. She probably had been since two months ago when she accidentally spilled red punch on the front of his white shirt during dinner. He hadn't gotten mad. In fact, he had pretended to be bleeding and proceeded to die spectacularly in front of her small cousins, much to their disturbing delight. As twisted as it was, that was the moment she had fallen.

  He caressed her right cheek, and the touch shot through her body like a bolt of lighting. Her body had always known she was in love with him. She had just refused to accept it. His voice was husky, as he said, “Liv—”

  "I know,” she whispered. She closed the distance between them and pressed herself against his chest, her hands wrapping around his thick, strong neck.

  Clark immediately stopped the strange thoughts coursing through his mind about possession—because he didn't believe in possession. He liked no-strings-attached, no expectations. But, then he nipped her lips. It was sweet and entirely too short, and possession became desire and something else that curled around his body and filled his groin. Her gaze searched his face before she licked his bottom lip. Clark framed her face with his hands be cause he had tasted perfection and nothing on earth would stop him from tasting her again.

  His tongue dipped into her open mouth, searching the sweetness and reveling in the slick warmth. His hands moved down her back to cup her behind through the hard, thick denim. She moaned in pleasure and it was a sign for him to move closer, to slant his head, and to plunge his tongue deeper into her mouth.

  Her hands moved to curl around his neck, the soft pillow of her breasts pressing against his hard chest. The kiss deepened, became carnal and erotic, and became its own show, not just the precursor to the main event. Then she subtly moved her hips against his, her heat drawing his hardness. He couldn't get enough of her mouth.

  Clark slowly removed his hands from the softness of her body, slowly pulled his mouth from hers, even as his tongue reached for one last dip in her mouth. Olivia stared at him, her hand moving to cover her mouth, over her swollen lips, which was a blessing in disguise because Clark couldn't stare at her lips and not want to taste them.

  Her hands dropped hesitantly from her mouth, and she whispered, “Clark—”

  Clark kissed her again because he couldn't not kiss her again. She gasped in his mouth as her hands grasped his shirt and pulled him close. His hands went to the hem of her T-shirt. He needed to feel her skin. He felt like a primitive hunter with one, primal thought dominating all else. Her. He had thought about her too long, he had wanted her for too long, even though he hadn't known it. He lifted the hem and when his hands touched the soft skin of her stomach, he shuddered in awe. Her skin was like rose petals, soft and gentle.

  Her mouth ravaged his. He didn't know when he lost control of the kiss, but he did. She had taken control. Her hands roamed over his head, her mouth plundered his. Her hands were everywhere, sliding over his skin, holding him tight. And he smiled into her mouth, right before she devoured him again.

  His hands traveled under the T-shirt. He found himself hesitating, even though he never hesitated when it came to getting what he wanted. One of her knees moved in between his legs and that was a green light he was unable to resist. His hand touched one lace-covered breast and the softness made him mutter a curse. His other hand moved to the bare, soft round skin above her waistband. He tried to squeeze a finger under the waistband, but the fit was too tight, and it made him think of other tight spots. He almost exploded on the spot.

  She moaned into his mouth, and his hands continued their erotic perusal. Skimming and squeezing and caressing the pliant flesh of her breast and her stomach. His mouth accepted her sweet assault, while his hands moved closer and closer to the source of her heat. He had never been this taut, this ready. And then through the heavy denim he felt her, her heat, her wetness soaking the material. She shuddered against him and her hips bucked.

  Her knee stopped moving and settled—almost painfully—on his hardness. It was as if there were no clothes between them, he felt every touch, every scratch, as if he was nude. He groaned from the need to bury himself inside of her. He was on the edge of no return. He wanted to be gentle and sweet, but he was breathing too hard and shaking too much.

  "Liv, if you don't want this, we should stop. Now. I don't want to hurt you,” Clark whispered, his voice harsh.

  Olivia moved onto the bed and stared at him. She stretched, drawing his attention to her breasts, to her legs, to the area between her legs.

  "Then don't hurt me,” she whispered, finally, then stretched out her arms to him.

  Her soft words tore a hole through the sensual fog that had blocked out all other thoughts since he had seen her in those jeans. What was he doing? He was almost between her legs, and he hadn't even had the Clark-Stone presex talk. He never forgot “the talk,” where he explained to a woman that he was not the forever-type or even the second-date type. “The talk” left him blameless in the face of any hurt feelings because he could always say that the woman had known the score. Of course, some women hadn't exactly bought that defense the next morning, and there had been a few unpleasant incidents that he preferred not to think about, but Clark felt it worked more often than not. He had “the talk” down to a science, but staring into Olivia's eyes, the words suddenly failed him.

  "What is it?” Olivia asked, her arms falling to her sides, obviously noting his hesitation.

  Clark said automatically, “I'm a busy man. I travel a lot for work. Making movies is the most important thing in my life right now and everything else—and everyone else—comes a distant second.”

  "What are you saying, Clark?” she asked, sounding confused, and Clark didn't blame her. He was confused himself.

  He ran a hand over his hair then met her gaze. Something sharp stabbed into his heart at the trust he saw in her eyes. She trusted him. Of course, she trusted him. A woman like Olivia wouldn't have opened the bedroom door for him if she didn't trust him.

  Clark coughed to force out the air trapped in his lungs, then said, “I don't want to mislead you. Tonight is all I have to give.”

  An unrecognizable emotion flashed across her eyes then she said simply, “I know.”

  He stared at her amazed, not truly believing what he had heard. “You know what?” he asked, hesitantly.

  Olivia sounded amused as she said, “I know who and what you are. You're all about fantasy, and fantasy is a one-night thing. It's hard to keep the fantasy alive in the face of mortgages, broken water heaters, indigestion, and all those other things that make up day-to-day life. I don't want to think about that other stuff tonight. Tonight, I just want you.”

  Clark stiffened because he could deal with reality just as much as the next guy. Or at least he thought he could. It had been so long since he had been forced to a small part of him wondered if Olivia was right.

  "But, what about a relationship?” he sputtered.

  "A relationship,” she said, sounding as if she had never heard of the word.

  "Don't women like you require a relationship?” he sputtered.

  She laughed and murmured, “If I didn't think you meant that as a compliment, I would be seriously insulted right now.”

  "Olivia—”

  She held out her arms again and said softly, “Clark, we only have tonight.” />
  Clark would have been a fool to resist that plea, and he was many things, but he wasn't a fool. He pushed aside his hesitation.

  "The talk” had gone better than expected, and he had nothing to worry about. So why was he still standing across the room while Olivia laid on the bed?

  He was almost frozen by indecision, just by the sight of her on the bed, laid out how he had dreamed. He wanted to start by tasting her breasts, but he also wanted to start by exploring her beautiful mouth. Finally, he moved onto the bed, hovering above her, staring at her slightly swollen, glistening lips and her hot eyes.

  Olivia apparently grew tired of his inability to make a decision and pulled him to her. Her mouth ravaged his, as her fingers wildly flew to the buttons of his shirt. He didn't know when he lost control of his fantasy, but Olivia had taken control and made him her fantasy. Her hands roamed over his close-shaven dark hair, her fingernails raking through the silky stubble, making him moan into her mouth. Her mouth plundered his. Her hands were everywhere, sliding over his skin, holding him tight. She paused for a moment to pull his shirt off his shoulders and throw it to the floor. He smiled at the admiring look she gave his chest, right before she devoured him again.

  She whispered his name, and something else incomprehensible, and Clark struggled with the buttons on her pants. He heard her soft laughter as she watched his hands. He finally got the jeans and the clinging underwear off her, and they both sighed when he touched her soft and wet curls. Heat and arousal steamed through his body, causing him to curse against her mouth.

  He explored her wetness with one long finger, pumping in and out of her, swearing as her body greedily clung to his finger. Her whispers of pleasure drove him on and on. He groaned with the need to bury himself inside of her, and he inhaled her unique female scent that sent him into a high fever. He couldn't slow down anymore, he couldn't be thoughtful, no matter how much he wanted.

  Olivia could feel the tremble in Clark's hands as he moved slowly against her, mimicking how their love-making would be. She had never felt such lust, such a need to be filled by one man. Her hands fumbled with his pants, and he mumbled “no,” as his hands dug into the bed sheets on either side of her head.

  "Stop, baby,” he groaned, as her hand reached into his pants, underneath his briefs.

  Her eyes slid closed of their own accord when she felt his hardness. It wasn't just a dream. He wanted her, almost as much as she wanted him. She ran her hand down the length and released a deep moan of need when she felt the shape of him. He mumbled her name, as a needy plea, and his eyes closed.

  "Wait,” he pleaded, as Olivia guided him inside of her to the spot that ached for him.

  The fit was tight and almost painful, but both sighed in relief that the excruciating wait was over. Olivia bit her bottom lip, her teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh, and squeezed her eyelids shut. For a moment, Clark didn't move. His hot, moist breath washed over her face as he balanced himself on his elbows above her, every muscle in his body quivering with strain. Then he moved. Testing. Olivia sighed his name and squeezed his bare, slick shoulders. It was heaven, it was hell, it was like nothing she had ever known.

  He began to move—slow then faster. And faster. The pleasure stabbed Olivia in the pit of her stomach, as he plunged into her. Her body gripped him. Her legs quivered as she spread her thighs wider to accommodate him. He was thick and hot, and filled her like she hadn't known she wanted to be filled. Then Clark shuddered and collapsed on top of her. Olivia smiled and pressed a kiss on his damp forehead.

  "I'm sorry, baby,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “I'll make it up to you.”

  She smiled, then nuzzled her face into his neck. Almost with Clark Stone was better than all-the-way with anyone else.

  Clark splashed water on his face then looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He was staring at a drowning man. He had known that it would be good with Olivia, but he hadn't known how good, how magical, as corny as it sounded.

  Clark cursed then wiped his face with a towel and walked out the bathroom across the hall from his old bedroom. He closed the bedroom door behind him, just as Olivia was attempting to pull on the too-tight jeans, her body wriggling to a seductive tune in order to get them up over her hips. Her bra and T-shirt already covered her addictive brown skin, and Clark realized he hadn't explored her breasts nearly enough.

  "Where are you going?” he demanded, as he unzipped his own pants that he had slipped on when he had walked to the bathroom.

  Olivia turned to face him, her gaze instantly dropping to his manhood that was doing a valiant job of coming back to the land of the living. Her gaze instantly flew back to his eyes. He could see her visibly gather her composure before she said, “I thought you were leaving to go to your friends' party.”

  Maybe it was the almost dismissive note in her tone, or his own confusion about the feelings bubbling in his chest, but his jaw clenched in anger as he growled, “I'm not nearly done with you, Liv.”

  She held his gaze for a moment, before she looked away and said, “This shouldn't—”

  "You regret what we just did?” he demanded.

  "I don't regret anything that happened,” she said, sounding just as angry as he felt. “Do you?” He immediately shook his head in response, but otherwise remained silent because he didn't know what he would say. She took a deep breath then said quietly, “I haven't been in this situation before—”

  "Good,” he snapped.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, but she continued, “I don't know how I'm supposed to act after what we just did. You've been the perfect fantasy man, better than I could have dreamed myself.”

  "And?” he prodded, his anger increasing with each word.

  "And as soon as we leave Red Creek, the fantasy will be over. You'll go back to your life, and I'll go back to mine.”

  He clenched his jaw in anger. He should have told her the truth right then—that he had dreamed about her since the first moment he saw her and that even after making love, he wanted her even more, but he was too angry. He was also too scared because a small part of him wondered if Olivia wanted the fantasy of Clark Stone, but not the reality. She wouldn't have been the first woman to tell him that.

  Clark stalked across the room and grabbed her around the waist. Her eyes widened, as he gently, but forcefully, pushed her onto the bed. He was on her in an instant. He should have left the room because he was out of control, but he couldn't leave her right now if his life depended on it.

  He grabbed her wrists and raised them above her head, trapping her hands against the sheets. She watched him, a mixture of confusion and surprise in her eyes.

  "What are you doing?” she asked, breathlessly.

  "Your fantasies may be over, but mine have just started,” he told her, then ground his mouth against hers. He thought kissing her would relieve the unquenchable need to taste her, but it didn't. If anything, it drove him more insane. His hands tightened around her wrists and she winced, but that didn't stop him from drinking from her mouth, drawing the sweet essence of Olivia from her.

  "This is insane, Clark,” she whispered, attempting to turn her head away from his mouth.

  "What's insane? Me, wanting you until I can't think straight? Or, you, wanting me just as much?” he asked, as he transferred both of her wrists to one hand and used his other hand to rip open the T-shirt, like one of the out-of-control men in his movies that he hunted down like animals. He pushed the cups of her bra under her breasts, and she began to struggle. His hardness roared back to life and poked into her soft stomach.

  Her abrupt struggles only made her breasts jiggle invitingly. He bent over and drew one beaded nipple into his mouth, licking the salty sweetness of her skin. When she was moaning and wriggling under his tongue, he moved to the other breast. He didn't have nearly enough patience to be this close to her breasts, so he easily flipped her onto her stomach. He couldn't form words anymore as he stared at her smooth, unblemished back
and the behind that had held his attention across the dining room. He pulled down the jeans and when she wriggled her hips, he knew she was just as crazy as he was.

  He touched the twin globes then squeezed. His body twitched to be inside of her, and Clark pulled off her panties. He pulled a condom from his wallet and quickly sheathed himself, while she rubbed her thighs together on the bed. He gripped her hips and pulled her to her knees and hands on the bed. He bent over and nuzzled the curls and lips between her legs, inhaling her scent, becoming nearly giddy with it. Her struggles ceased as she moaned into a pillow near her face and her hands gripped the bed sheets.

  Clark couldn't wait any longer. He gritted his teeth as he eased into her. She was still wet and hot, still willing. She moved around his body like a second skin, squeezing him hard, drinking from him. He heard her whimpers of pleasure as he began, deep and forceful. He thrust into her, using her, like he had never used any other woman. One hand reached around to play with her nipples, while the other hand moved to the bud of nerves between her legs that was tight and erect for him. He caught the bud and moved his fingers around it, gently squeezing and pulling. Olivia screamed his name as her hips moved in opposition to his, drawing him tighter and closer.

  She grew tighter and hotter around him. Clark's hand at her breast grew almost abusive, rough and demanding, but Olivia seemed too involved in the pleasure to notice. He felt her contract around him before she screamed his name hoarsely. Clark rammed home a few more times before he strained soundlessly and lowered her to the bed, laying on top of her, still connected.

  Silence, besides the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind outside the open bedroom windows, settled in the room as Clark rolled off her. Olivia tried not to cry out from the loss. Every nerve in her body was sensitive at that moment, every muscle screamed in pleasure and demanded to know what had taken her so long to find this. Clark left the bed and she heard him walk out the bedroom to the bathroom across the hall, Olivia kept her eyes trained on the ceiling because she hadn't even noticed when he put on protection, but she remembered not giving him time to do so the first time they made love. He returned a few moments later and crawled back into bed.