An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
No Holds Barred
ISBN 9781419921285
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No Holds Barred Copyright © 2009 Paris Brandon
Edited by Helen Woodall.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication February 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
No Holds Barred
Paris Brandon
Dedication
This story is dedicated with love and appreciation, to my husband. Thanks for always believing in me, honey.
Acknowledgments
I would also like to thank Francesca Hawley and Betty Winslow for their encouragement and support while I was working on this story. You’re the best!
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Ben Wa: Ben Wa Novelty Company
Chapter One
Ella set her empty champagne flute on the passing waiter’s tray. She didn’t need champagne to appreciate the large tuxedo-clad Viking stalking across the room but another glass would be all it took to talk her into believing that she, Raphaella Dotti, the handsome Dotti daughter, had put the determined glint in Jake Truhorn’s blue-gray eyes.
She’d caught a glimpse of the reclusive young artist’s back earlier. His signature dark blond braid trailing between his very broad shoulder blades had fascinated her and then he’d turned around. Tall, muscular and Nordic didn’t hurt. Oh yum. And it was her birthday.
He walked past beautiful women in designer dresses who touched him in passing, a group of Fortune 500 donors who’d flocked to the trendy Chicago gallery Snap! to support the local Inner City Youth Center by bidding on donated artwork including New York artist Truhorn’s newest mural entitled The Forgotten. He passed a harried tray-laden waiter, deftly snagging a flute of champagne while he still pinned her with his gray-blue gaze.
Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, she hummed quietly as her panties dampened.
“You look…like you can’t decide what to do next,” he said, insinuating the flute into her hand.
The timbre of his voice vibrated through her and her nipples tightened. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “And you look interesting.” And young. Happy Fortieth, Ella!
An hour later she found out just how interesting and young he was while they were enjoying a glass of wine and oysters on the half-shell in one of Chicago’s lesser known treasures, the Wine Cellar. Jake was thirty, impressed by her passion for her job as style editor for the local city magazine Whimsy and everything from his infectious smile to his velvety voice lulled her into her favorite bit of foreplay—the chase. He was still looking into her eyes and smiling when he suggested a little exercise.
The line charmed her until they actually walked the six blocks to his hotel, his arm around her at her first shiver. The September breeze had nothing to do with her body temperature. A delicious ripple of anticipation and the Viking marauder with the hungry glint in his very determined gaze was what made her pull her black silk shawl tighter.
She thought he’d kiss her in the elevator but his hand barely brushed her fingertips and the little zing was like an electrical shock sizzling through her. When the doors opened he took her hand and drew her down the hall into his room, backing her against the door as he closed it.
Delicious heat radiated from somewhere behind his very starched shirt and the thought that she’d never be cold again slipped through her mind before she could stop it and then his hot insistent mouth was on hers and she stopped thinking.
She was vaguely aware of her shawl slipping away. Jake’s hands were everywhere, tracing her shoulders, molding her back, exploring her. He found the side zipper of her very elegant black silk dress. She bit her bottom lip, smiling as he drew the zipper down with the same slow deliberate ease he was doing everything else.
“This dress should be enshrined,” he rasped, drawing the shaped bodice away until her breasts bounced free. He kissed them while he peeled the satiny fabric over her ribs, followed the path with his tongue, licked into her bellybutton, feasted as if she were a rare delicacy to be savored.
“You’re very good at this,” she whispered when he skimmed her out of her garter belt and stockings. He wrestled her panties down with his teeth and she shivered when the air hit her bare bottom.
“I’m very inspired,” he whispered back, kissing her pussy as if he was kissing her mouth and that was all it took. Her knees buckled, she shook, was still shaking when he swung her into his arms.
Breathless and naked against his fully clothed chest, her skin tingled but it was his possessive gaze that ensnared her. “The next time will be better,” he said, lowering her to the bed, ripping at his tie. “After that, we’ll be amazing.”
After that? She arched her brow, and bit back a nervous laugh. She’d be gone after he rolled over and started snoring.
“Oh that looks like a challenge, Raphaella Dotti and if there’s one thing I like, it’s a challenge.” He grinned, looking young, potent and just the slightest bit dangerous.
He pushed his slacks over his bare hips, ripping open a condom packet with his teeth and rolling the protective sheath over his cock with a caress that had her mouth watering.
Her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck fluttered like a caress. She lifted her arms, smiling, until he slid into her so quickly she gasped. He gave her just enough time to settle before he rocked her into a rhythm that turned hard, sharp and fast at exactly the right moment.
She groaned and reached for him when he slid out of her, arched when his warm tongue circled her clit and speared inside, thrusting like a small, warm cock. She caught the rhythm. Almost there.
Until he slid back up her body and eased his tongue into her mouth. She could taste herself, salty and sweet at the same time. Quivering, she almost came when he thrust his cock back inside her. She clenched her inner muscles, trying to draw him deeper. And then each thrust became sharper than the last and she coiled, tightened, shattered. His roar reverberated through her and sent her crashing into another wave of pleasure.
She was still shivering from her orgasm, boneless and replete when he kissed her, whispering against her lips, “You are so beautiful.”
Ella didn’t have enough energy left to laugh. She was used to men telling her that to get her into bed, not after they’d already gotten her there. A bigger surprise came when she was the one who drifted off, coming awake suddenly to find he was sti
ll inside her, still watching her.
He looked almost as stunned as she felt and then he began to move again in slow easy strokes, kissing her as if he was never going to get enough of her mouth. She knew a moment of panic but her body refused to let go of him, rose to meet him at every thrust. Mine, it kept telling her even when she tried to disconnect from it, tried to put the feelings where they belonged. You’re my Happy Birthday present to myself nothing more, Ella told herself even as she wrapped her legs around his hips, inviting him deeper, closer.
Twelve hours later, convinced she was doing the right thing she slipped out of his hotel room while he was asleep and hailed a cab instead of walking six blocks to her apartment in her evening clothes. They hadn’t exchanged any personal information other than names and that they were both healthy responsible adults with inquisitive voracious appetites.
She’d been so tempted to stay but Jake was ten years younger, looked even better naked than he did in a tux and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this sexually satisfied. Why spoil the euphoria with a drawn-out awkward goodbye?
She’d been leaving first for a long time now, before anyone could suggest a diet or a nose job or her personal favorite, liposuction. Before she fell into the trap of loving someone so much she allowed herself to become their latest project. And she could fall hard for Jake Truhorn. How ridiculous would that be? How dangerous?
So, she spent the next twenty-four hours convincing herself that she’d done the right thing, all the while frowning into mirrors at least once an hour, trying to smooth the crinkled little creases around her eyes and the laugh lines that she hadn’t paid any attention to before.
From now on she was just going to celebrate the anniversary of her fortieth birthday. And she was probably going to stop looking into mirrors. At least until she found a really great industrial strength night cream.
Two days later Jake Truhorn laid siege to her email, her phone and her sense of humor. She very gently informed him the ten-year age gap was a problem. He made a joke about being the only one who’d be able to keep up with her in her old age, smoothly transitioning the conversation into their shared love of campy B-movie horror classics, ethnic food and a single-minded, obsessive passion for their work.
One year and innumerable emails and phone calls later he was still making jokes, still charming her and still making her panties wet—and he knew it.
“Where are you planning on celebrating your forty-first birthday?” he asked during their latest regular Sunday-morning-brunch-with-the-phone-to-their-ear-conversations.
“I’m not. I’m only going to celebrate the anniversary of my fortieth from now on,” she quipped before she thought better of it. The moment of silence that followed felt like it lasted ten minutes. When he finally said something he sounded like he’d been holding his breath.
“Then I say do it right. Spend a week with me. We’ll do all the things we didn’t have time to do a year ago.”
He didn’t say “because she’d run like a thief in the night” but it had always been there between them. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I told you I hate long goodbyes.”
“Then you must have been doing them all wrong,” he drawled. “I know you have vacation time coming because you’re a workaholic and all work and no play…”
“Who says I don’t play? I’ve never said I don’t play.”
“You haven’t said anything about dating anyone… lately.”
“Stop fishing, I haven’t had time to socialize much this year but as long as my batteries hold out—” She actually thought she heard him shudder on the other end.
“One week of unbridled-no-holds-barred-anything-goes sex. You’re welcome to bring as many batteries as you think you might need but I’m telling you now, you won’t need them.”
She hadn’t had unbridled-no-holds-barred-anything-goes sex for almost a year now. Her panties got wet as she remembered Jake’s tongue, his mouth, his hands and his incredibly firm, long-lasting erections. So with wet panties and an almost steady voice she agreed that on the anniversary of her fortieth birthday she’d spend the week with him on his turf, the wilds of upstate New York. He knew just the place but he did have a request—no underwear for the entire week.
She’d glanced down at her much more than a mouthful breasts, grimaced and agreed. She hadn’t been without an underwire bra since she was fourteen. Oh, what the hell, it was only for a week. And then she started thinking about how the sound of his voice still sent a frisson of heat through her. When she closed her eyes she could see him gazing at her the last time they’d made love.
Ella still wanted him and that scared her. She’d rather have a phone call from Jake at two in the morning than a weekend in Cancun with anyone else. He’d called later to apologize for the slurred call from his best friend’s bachelor party. She’d laughed about it at the time but she wasn’t laughing now.
Because Raphaella Dotti hadn’t walked away from someone she hadn’t been able to forget for a very long time. She was older now, stronger. And she was tired of running.
So she packed and unpacked her underwire bras three times. She let her hairdresser disguise her few gray hairs with caramel highlights. And if she was going commando for a week she was doing it her way. It had taken two margaritas at the day spa but she was as smooth as a peach—and shaking in her very expensive, high-tech purchased-by-strong-suggestion hiking boots.
It was time to be brave. She could do brave for a week in the wilds of upstate New York with a handsome young artist ten years her junior, whom she wanted more than her next breath. She knew she was in trouble when she tried to hum “Happy Birthday to me” and stumbled over the melody.
Chapter Two
Eyes closed, Jake’s focus drifted from the gentle breeze fluttering the crown of his cock to the memory of Ella’s lush body writhing beneath him, sweat-soaked and panting, arching into his thrusts as if her life depended on it.
The morning sun striking the back patio of his secluded hideaway warmed his naked body as he shifted from downward dog, upward to salute the sun, stretching muscles as he stretched his thoughts toward the woman whose rental car was winding up his narrow gravel drive. She was early, a good sign. He smiled again at the image of them naked and writhing, anticipation making his cock strain and his balls pull tight. The same reaction he’d had the first time he saw her.
Something had happened that September night a year ago, something he’d never expected. He’d fallen hard and he’d been positive that she had too. Ella had run like the hounds of hell were nipping at her ankles. And it had taken him six months to figure out why. It hadn’t been too much wine, rebounding from a bad relationship, or the ten-year age difference that separated them. Ella would share her body. Her heart was another matter. This week was the culmination of the last six months of careful planning. He’d bet the outrageous commission on his next mural that she hadn’t had sex with anyone else this past year and neither had he.
Ella was the challenge he’d been looking for his entire life. From her dark expressive eyes to her wide generous mouth she was an artist’s dream, all sharp angles and soft flowing curves, perfectly balanced, perfectly proportioned. She was smart and funny and he could have listened to her voice every day but he’d figured out early that he didn’t want to end up a footnote in her very busy schedule. He wanted more. He wanted Ella, body and soul.
The sound of her car door shutting shushed through the quiet morning raising the pulse he’d just gotten under control. The promise of an entire week of unbridled no-fantasy-left-unturned lust had kept him half-hard since she’d agreed.
He raised to warrior pose, arms flung wide, totally exposed as he heard over the slight rustle of late summer leaves, her breath catch in the little half-moan that made him crazy. He opened his eyes slowly, savoring each moment until he saw her again.
Her thick chestnut hair was piled into a loose topknot, wisps of lighter hair clinging to the sides o
f her elegant neck. His fingers itched to burrow through the silky strands. He wanted to gaze into her dark expressive eyes and kiss her luscious crazy mouth, a mouth that had haunted his dreams.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, not bothering to cover the hitch in his own voice. A white poet’s blouse flowed, all gauze and lace and ribbon ties over her curvy breasts and swirled around her jean-clad hips.
She dropped a camel-colored knapsack he’d barely noticed. “I didn’t think clothing would be optional on my drive here,” she said, more than a little out of breath, a flicker of excitement shining in her eyes. “Then again, I didn’t think I’d find you naked, doing yoga.”
He relaxed his posture and smiled. “If I only get a week with you, it starts now, Ella.”
The corner of her mouth crooked and she started untying the ribbons holding her blouse together as she walked toward him. He could hear the small chuckle building in her throat, feel the air reverberate when she stopped, close enough to touch him. She let the white filmy fabric slide over her arms and he could almost hear it hiss as it fluttered over her fingertips. Those same elegant fingertips slipped under her lacy bra straps then hesitated. He could see her panic in the fluttery pulse at the base of her throat.
Nervous anticipation gripped Ella. “I was going to take this off before I got here but I was afraid if I stopped I might start thinking about what we’re doing.” And run.
She’d forgotten how beautiful he was, brutally elegant, naked and alive. He was the book cover version of a Viking with his classic Nordic features, blue-gray eyes and tall muscular build. Her blood felt like it was bubbling inside her and whatever else happened she wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life. No one had ever looked at her like she was the center of their world before and it scared the hell out of her because she wasn’t stupid enough to think it wouldn’t be addictive.
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