Michael merely nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “Good. That will be an additional safeguard against pregnancy.”
It was the most bizarre conversation that she had ever participated in. Intimate, yet impersonal. Cathy attributed her lack of embarrassment to the wine-induced haze that was fogging her mind.
The attentive waiter materialized to whisk away their empty plates and to inquire whether they would care for coffee or dessert. Michael deferred to her with a slight gesture. “Winter?” She declined with a constrained smile. She was wondering what came next and supposed that she would soon find out. Her heart began to pound, every beat resonating in her head.
The waiter left the tab in a discreet holder. Michael glanced at the tab. He took out his wallet and pulled out some bills to put inside the holder. Then he reached back into his wallet and removed a hundred dollar bill. He slid it across the table toward her. She watched him, keeping her face carefully blank.
Taking his fingers off of the bill, he said quietly, “Here is what we agreed upon for this evening. Now you have a decision to make, Winter. I can either see you into a cab that will take you home, or you can come with me to my house. If you change your mind after you come back with me, I will still put you into a cab to send you home tonight. I promise you there will be no hard feelings. But I do want to continue to see you, and it would be a physical relationship.”
Cathy felt herself start to shake, but it wasn’t the kind of trembling that could be seen. Instead, her entire insides were quivering like jelly. So…here it is. The moment of truth.
She stared at the fold-creased hundred-dollar bill. It blurred, and she blinked to bring it back into focus. In her mind’s eye, superimposed over the hundred dollar bill, was the balance in her check register, the bills that were scattered all over the carpet beside her desk, her daughter’s pinched little face. A huge fist squeezed her chest. The familiar crushing sensation made it hard to draw in her breath. She forced her lungs to expand, dragging in some air.
Her mind whirled, racing this way and that. The hundred dollars that she was looking at wouldn’t go far. She was not an idiot. But a lunch with conversation, another dinner at an intimate restaurant, perhaps a bike ride or weekend trip – each time gaining her another hundred. The hundred dollar bill began to multiply, began to make a difference. All she had to do was go back to his home. All she had to do was spread her legs.
Cathy—no, Winter, she corrected herself—picked up the hundred dollar bill. She folded it very deliberately and put it safely into her purse. Then she looked up. “I’ll go back to your house.”
Chapter Three
A thousand times, Cathy changed her mind, and a thousand times she bit back the words. They did not speak during the taxi ride. Michael had taken her hand when he entered the cab after her and had not let go of it. Their hands lay clasped on the seat between them, his large one engulfing hers. He did not hold her hand tightly or squeeze it or play with her fingers. There was no overt demand. Yet the contact created an intimacy and a bond that in her indecisive state of mind she could not break. Perhaps it was that as much as anything else that stopped her from telling him that she had second thoughts about what she was doing.
At their destination, Michael paid off the cab, and still with the lightest of contact—the warmth of his hand at her elbow or at the small of her back—he directed her to the front door and then inside the house.
The entry was shrouded in mystery. Lamps sitting on dark lacquered occasional tables had been left on so that pools of light played with the night shadows. Cathy instinctively shivered, but she wasn’t given time to analyze the feeling. Michael ushered her into the living area. Cathy received a swift impression of a comfortably furnished room with big upholstered armchairs, a deep-cushioned sofa, some small lamp tables and other accessories. A gas fire burned yellow in the glass-fronted fireplace. The fire was out of context in June, but the ambiance of the dancing flames was striking.
Cathy moved forward, away from him, breaking physical contact. She whirled to face him. She crossed her arms, and her palms began unconsciously running up and down her bare skin. The fear that had nudged her earlier in the entry became full-blown, making her skin clammy. She was breathing shallowly. Suddenly and startlingly sober with the adrenaline racing through her veins, her mind screamed at her. She hadn’t considered. She could have placed herself in very real danger. This man was a stranger to her! What a fool she was! He could do anything he wanted to her. No one knew where she was. She gulped back a sob, her breath rasping in her throat.
* * * *
Hearing her swift intake of breath, Michael stilled and narrowed his gaze on her. The firelight burnished glints of gold dancing in her auburn curls and cast mysterious shadows into her eyes. But he easily read her body language. She looked like a beautiful frightened feline holding herself at bay. It would not take much to spook her, he thought. He had deliberately used a cab to bring them back to his house, believing that she would be less likely to say anything about having second thoughts within the driver’s hearing. Now he saw that he had correctly anticipated her state of mind. His body had already been hard for her before they had left the restaurant. He would have to curb his impatience. He felt the razor-edge anticipation and, along with it, the tightening of his balls.
He walked across the dimly lit room toward her, his unwavering gaze fixed on her face. He stopped within inches of her. He was actually a little surprised when she didn’t back away. At that close proximity, he could see the frantic pulse jump in her throat with each beat of her heart. Keeping captive her unsure gaze, he cupped his hands gently on each side of her face and drew her up. His lips caught hers. For a first kiss it was almost chaste. Almost, but not quite. He took his time, not pressing her but just tasting her. She was stiff at first. Her defensive stance was a barrier between them. Then he felt some of the tension drain out of her body. Her tightly clutched arms loosened and fell to her sides.
He slipped one of his hands into the thick hair behind her nape, holding her head as he slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss. With the other hand, he pressed her closer so that her generous breasts flattened against the hard breadth of his chest. She shivered under his fingers when he glided them slowly up and down the delicate curve of her spine.
* * * *
Cathy’s skin pebbled with goose bumps. His warmth surrounded her, and his cologne was a spicy musk in her nostrils. Her mouth opened under the gentle insistence of his kiss, and his tongue slid along the seam of her parted lips. He tasted pleasantly of wine. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations roll over her, through her. She felt his lips move to her eyelids, to her throat. It had been so long since she had been held.
She sighed, and he heard her. He kissed her again, this time less gently. His tongue pressed inside her mouth, stroking lightly, erotically against hers. His hands moved over her body, exploring its contours. He cupped her butt in both hands, drawing her closer, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection against her soft belly. She trembled. He released her to push up the hem of her silken shell, his long, calloused fingers gliding smoothly underneath it to caress her trembling ribs and her back. She felt the nimble twist of his fingers, and then her bra parted. His hands slid back around and pushed up inside her bra to palm her naked breasts. All the while he kissed her. She quivered with mingled dread and anticipation. Her hands lifted to curve over his hard shoulders for balance.
He broke the kiss and took her hands away from his shoulders. She blinked up at him, confused. Almost in one motion, he pulled the shell over her head, down her arms, and dropped it. Her bra went the same way. She quivered in pleasurable reaction. He gathered her close again, his fingers tightening almost painfully on her forearms. He trailed his firm lips down her throat, and she lifted her chin to give him better access. When he nipped the skin under her ear, she inhaled sharply at the slight sting of pain. His tongue touched the tiny wound, soothing it. A muscular arm slid behind her bare back, pu
lling her upward. He bowed her against his taut body. His hair brushed her chin as his head dipped. Then his mouth closed on one breast, and he suckled it. Cathy arched sharply in shock, giving a choked cry. She spasmodically clutched his shoulders.
He bent slightly, swept his other arm behind her knees, and lifted her off of her feet. His mouth never left her breast but continued to work wantonly on her tender flesh. She jerked under the vacuum of his hot mouth. Bending one knee on the sofa, he laid her down. His lips finally freed her throbbing breast. The warmth of his breath on her wet skin made her shudder. “You can stop it at any point, this time.” His voice was low, a little hoarse.
This time. The words sounded a dim warning in her overloaded mind. But he didn’t wait for any reply she might have formulated. His hot mouth came down on her other breast, and he sucked and tongued. Her palms flattened against the sofa cushion, her fingernails digging into the fabric. She threw back her head, a low moan rising from her throat.
“That’s it. Let me hear you. Tell me what you like, Winter.” His voice was rougher.
* * * *
Michael grasped both of her breasts, squeezing and kneading with his fingers. He blew on a moistened nipple and gently bit the hard, beaded peak. She jerked under him. God, she’s responsive! His cock swelled harder, uncomfortable against his metal zipper. He looked up into her taut face. She was biting her lips. She was holding back. He could sense it. She didn’t want to let loose and just let things happen. Not once since moving to the sofa had she touched him. That clued him that she might still call an end to the evening. She had not yet committed herself to the night, let alone to the long-term arrangement that he wanted. And he did want it. Badly.
Michael shackled her slender wrists with one hand and raised them together over her head, holding them against the cushion. Her eyes opened, hazy alarm in their depths. Her lips parted, and he dipped his head to take her mouth, shutting off anything she might have been about to say. The taste of her wine-laden lips was intoxicating. He slipped his tongue in for a deeper kiss. He devoured her mouth, his tongue possessively stroking inside, mimicking an erotic rhythm. She opened her mouth wider and sucked in his tongue. With his free hand, he palmed a plump breast and with his thumb nail flicked the pebbled nipple again and again. With every abrasion of his thumb, she jerked as though electric shocks were running through her. Suddenly he pinched the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. A guttural moan caught in her throat. Her body suddenly began to shudder uncontrollably. Her wrists strained against his hold, and her whole body twisted.
Michael lifted his head and looked down into her flushed face. He was stunned. He had never had a woman come so hard with so little effort on his part. His cock throbbed. The thought curled into his impassioned mind that she would probably come again, several times, before the night was done.
He eased himself up, letting go of her wrists. She lay limply, her breath quick and shallow. Her arms remained resting above her head, tilting up her full, bare breasts. She was beautiful in her abandoned, open position. He slipped off her shoes and slid a palm up one smooth calf. She stiffened with the feel of his hand on her leg. Her arms started to come down defensively. He snagged her wrists again, bearing them firmly back over her head. He nuzzled her breasts with his face, beginning a slow exploration of them with his mouth, lips, tongue. She arched, thrusting her breasts higher. A breathy moan left her.
He knew something of what turned her on now. On his knees beside the sofa, he began a sensuous feast. He suckled each breast, lightly blew and bit, and she began writhing, pushing herself fuller into his mouth. Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in small pants. He held her wrists still pinned above her head. His other hand made slow circles on her calves, curling around her soft thighs and brushing back down, then up again, each pass pushing her skirt higher until a glimpse of her white panties gleamed in the dim light. He tightly cupped her pubis through the thin cotton, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clitoris. She writhed under his ministrations.
Michael sucked one breast deeper into his mouth. Firmly, his tongue depressed the hard bud of her nipple against the roof of his mouth. He pulled. She came up off the sofa, a high thin scream ripping from her throat. Pinned by his hands, one at her wrists and the other at the juncture of her thighs, her body formed a quivering tension bridge for several seconds before she collapsed. She did not move, only her shallow breathing showing that she was alive.
He was sweating. His breath rasped as he dragged air into his lungs. God, she was driving him to the brink. He didn’t know how much longer he could maintain control. His cock was a rigid steel rod, throbbing painfully. He stood up to swiftly divest himself of his clothes. He tore open a condom to sheath himself. Then he unzipped her skirt and pulled it and her underpants down, lifting her buttocks to slide the garments off her legs. Her body was limp, heavy in its bonelessness. He didn’t need to feel her with his fingers to know that she was ready. He knelt on the sofa, nudging her legs apart with his thigh. Grasping her hips, he pulled her up, held her steady, and slowly pushed into her heat.
Michael inhaled harshly. It was excruciating. She was tight and wet. Instinctively he flexed his hips. A low mewl escaped her. The sexy sound fueled his desire. His fingers dug into her hips. He wanted to plunge wildly, but he held himself still. His entire body shook from the strain. The blood drummed in his temples. In a harsh voice that he barely recognized as his own, he ground out, “You can stop it, Winter. You can still stop it.” Her eyes flared open, blankly, revealing the black of her pupils dilated.
He eased out slowly, then partially back in. He felt her shudder. His cock was rock-hard, aching. “Tell me what you want, Winter!” He pulled out slowly then pushed forward only until he reached that same spot that had made her shudder. “Tell me to stop! Now!” Again he made the tortuous shallow stroke. Again, again. His straining muscles quivered. Corded bands stood out on his neck.
* * * *
Through the daze that held her, Cathy heard and dimly understood what he was demanding of her. She felt her inner muscles contract with each slick, heavy movement stroking of the same spot building an inferno inside her. Almost panicked, she felt the fiery unaccustomed pleasure pooling again. Incandescent warmth flashed through her body, flushing her skin with perspiration. She felt as though she was melting. Spirals of heat slowly rose, suffusing her being with fever. Foreign pressure built. Her whole body tightened. Her breath hitched in her throat. It was unbearable.
“Tell me to stop, Winter!”
Stroke, stroke. Her body began to bow under the exquisite torture. She flung back her head. Her writhing fingers clawed into the cushions. She choked out the words. “No! No, don’t stop!”
Michael grunted. He breathed harshly above her, pushed himself deep. Winter felt the unfamiliar pressure, the fullness of blood-hot flesh, stretching her, burning her. Then the thick pulsing heat seated inside her began to move, slowly at first, then faster, harder. Something exploded in her mind, in her body. Passion torched her. White heat rocketed through her core, carrying her into freefall with the sparks of a comet’s tail following her down. Then the brilliance flickered out, and it was black.
* * * *
“Winter.”
Disturbed by the unfamiliar summons, she dragged her eyes open. Groping heavily through groggy confusion, she blinked. Faint gray daylight trickled past the edges of navy-blue drapes. The sight of the strange bedroom disoriented her, and she shut her eyes again. She rolled her head on the pillow. Dull pain shot through her skull. She groaned and forced her eyes open. What the hell happened?
A man stood near the rumpled bed, looking down at her. He was dressed in an expensive shirt and tie and suit. His dark, damp hair glistened. She frowned up at him. She didn’t recognize him.
His eyes were pale ice-blue.
Her memory came crashing back. He had taken her on the sofa. That much she remembered. She must have passed out then. When she had come back to hers
elf, he had somehow brought her into the bedroom, into his bed. He had taken her three more times during the night before allowing her over-stimulated, exhausted body to sleep. She squeezed shut her eyes, willing it all to have been a hallucinatory dream.
“Your clothes are here on the chair. I’ve put fresh towels in the bathroom so you can shower. When you’re ready, come downstairs so that we can talk.” Her eyes snapped open. He walked out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him.
Cathy dragged the tangled mass of hair out of her face. She pushed herself up, and the sheet slipped down, exposing her nakedness. Her body protested even that small movement. Her head pounded with hangover. She was sore all over. Her dulled gaze fell on her clothes. The clothes that had been scattered all over downstairs. The clothes that were now stacked neatly on the chair beside the bed.
The sense of unreality that still fogged her mind cleared with brutal suddenness. She covered her face with trembling hands and rocked back and forth. She was surrounded by his male scent and the smell of sex. Her sensitized body still felt the imprint of his mouth, his hands, the stroke of his hard thick shaft.
She heated with embarrassment. God, what had she done? It couldn’t all be put down to the wine she had drunk. He had played her body as a maestro would play a familiar instrument, drawing the most sublime responses from her.
She had never experienced such sex in her life. She had never orgasmed when intimate with her ex-husband. Yet in a single night with a stranger… She couldn’t bear to think about it. Not right then. Not when that same stranger was waiting for her downstairs.
Roberts, Sarah - His Sugar Baby (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 3
