Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  Surely she couldn’t want to spend time with him. He was arrogant, presumptuous, bossy, obstinate. Not at all the sort of man she liked, not the sort her family would like. Would accept.

  She shook her head in irritation at herself. Her family was not going to be troubled at all by Ethan Savage, as they would never know. There was nothing to know. A meal with a colleague, a friend. That was all it was. Nothing more. And she might not even go.

  Except she knew she would. If she did not, he would come looking for her, and that would present her with a whole lot more trouble to deal with.

  Fleur repacked her medical bag and slipped from Ethan’s riad, closing the door softly behind her. Working or not, she definitely needed a shower. Another shower. And fresh underwear.

  * * * *

  Fleur spent the rest of that day in uneventful scurrying around. She dealt with sun-induced complaints for the most part, generally advising that her patients should drink lots of bottled water and stay in the shade. Her advice was rarely heeded. She had one child with chickenpox to treat—not a serious complaint, but very uncomfortable in this heat. She prescribed a soothing lotion for the spots and asked the parents to bring the little girl back the day before they were to fly home. She would need to issue a certificate to say that the child was past the infectious stage or she might not be permitted to board an airplane.

  That evening, Fleur felt torn. In good conscience, she knew she should visit Ethan Savage again. He might have a concussion. She admitted it was unlikely, but the danger would be present for up to twenty-four hours. He really should be checked at least once more overnight, preferably twice. And as she was the only medic available in the hotel today, that responsibility would fall to her. At eight thirty, she gave in to temptation, or maybe she just stopped shirking her duty. Whatever… She made her way back along the rabbit warren of internal staff corridors to reach his suite.

  She pressed the doorbell and waited. No answer. She pressed again, waited again. Still nothing. She hoped that was a good sign. Perhaps he was well enough to be out and about. Or maybe he was ill, inside his suite. Perhaps he needed help. But surely, he would have called reception. She turned, took a few paces away before spinning on her heel and marching back to the door. She gave herself no further time to consider before she’d pulled her passkey from her pocket and slotted it into the door mechanism. The lock clicked and she pushed the door open.

  Stepping through the entrance, she called out to him. “Mr. Savage? Ethan? It is Doctor Mansouri.”

  Silence. Total silence. She knew immediately that he wasn’t here. She would have felt his presence, would have known if he was nearby. Even so, she took a few steps farther across the lobby. She peered into the courtyard, now bathed in the soft balmy darkness of a Moroccan evening. She listened, but the only sounds were the constant splashing of the fountain and the high-pitched hum of a million cicadas, evident everywhere, but largely unseen.

  She quickly glanced into the dining area and the wide expanse of the lounge, both deserted. That just left the bedrooms. Should she? Fleur supposed that if he were ill, the most likely place to find him would be in bed. For reasons she preferred not to examine at this time, that prospect was distinctly unsettling. But she was here. She was a doctor. Her patient might need her help. She had no choice.

  A quick check of all three upstairs rooms and it was obvious which bedroom he was using. That too was deserted. His rucksack, which she remembered from earlier in the day, rested on the floor, his camera and a lever arch file on the bed. The rolled-up map she’d improvised as a neck collar was there too and, on impulse, Fleur unrolled it now. It was indeed a chart of some sort and not the tourist road map she’d originally thought. That being so, Ethan Savage’s claim to be an employee of some description seemed more plausible. Not that she had seriously doubted that. She trusted his word. Fleur rerolled the chart and placed it back on the bed where she had found it. He was not here. That much was clear. She could ask the hotel reception to let her know when he returned and she would look in later. She was to be on duty all night.

  Fleur turned and screamed.

  “Did you forget something, Doctor?” Ethan blocked the bedroom doorway as he lounged against the doorframe, watching her, dressed in smart gray trousers and a pale lemon sports shirt, obviously ready for an evening out.

  How long has he been there? Fleur splayed her hand across her heart, felt the furious pounding in her chest. She sat on the bed abruptly.

  “You gave me a shock,” she accused him, choosing to disregard the fact that he was exactly where he had every right to be.

  “And you’re a day early, honey. We’re having dinner tomorrow.”

  “I am not here to eat. I came to see you.”

  “Do you usually let yourself into the guest riads and wander around the bedrooms?”

  “Of course not. I thought you might be ill.”

  “Do I look ill?”

  In truth, he appeared to be about as healthy and robust as anyone she’d ever set eyes on. Disgustingly, disconcertingly so.

  “No, you look fine.”

  “Thank you. So do you. And now we’ve got that sorted, could I offer you a drink?”

  “I told you, no alcohol with the painkillers.” Fleur fell back on her stern medical persona.

  “Juice? Water? A coffee, perhaps?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I really should go.” She stood and walked purposefully toward him, expecting him to step aside and allow her to leave the bedroom. Ethan seemed to have other plans and remained exactly where he was.

  “Why were you looking at my chart?”

  “I was interested, that is all.”

  “You were checking.”

  “Checking what?”

  “Checking that I was telling you the truth, about being here to work rather than for pleasure. Though, of course, I could always manage to combine the two.”

  His smile could only be described as wicked. She had to put a stop to this now.

  “Do not be ridiculous, Mr. Savage. Why would I want to check on you? What interest would I have?”

  “What indeed?” His grin widened.

  With an angry, exasperated sigh, Fleur moved to push past him. This time Ethan did shift to one side to allow her through. The corridor was narrower than perhaps she had realized and she brushed against him, caught that wonderful, musky aroma of freshly showered, sexy male—a scent she’d not savored for some time, perhaps had never come across in quite such a potent form. Ethan Savage evoked strong sensations in her, uncomfortable, unsettling feelings, an awareness buried deep, where her pussy dampened at her merest thought of him touching her again. Of not quite kissing her again.

  If she ate with him—when she ate with him—she knew she would not be satisfied with that. She wanted more from the wickedly smiling Ethan Savage than a five-star gourmet dinner. She wasn’t yet ready to give a name to it, this yearning, though she suspected he might be able to. Something in his manner told her that he knew, that he could see and feel her longing for—for what?

  “Excuse me. I should not be here.” Fleur muttered her excuses and scuttled toward the stairs. Suddenly, for reasons she could not even start to fathom, she stopped. She turned to look back at him, still lounging in the bedroom doorway. He watched her, one eyebrow raised, a slight smile on his mouth.

  Fleur dropped her bag to the floor, the solid clunk echoing across the room. Then she ran the few steps back to him. She reached him, placed her palms on his cheeks and raised herself on her toes to lay her lips across his. This was no almost kiss, nothing not quite about this kiss. Fleur opened her mouth, drew her tongue across the seam of his lips and pushed through the unresisting barrier to taste him. He placed his hands at her hips, then she was vaguely conscious that he had wrapped his arms around her to draw her in close as she deepened this full and proper kiss, plunging her tongue inside his mouth in a way she’d only ever really read about.

  But she was actually doing it and doing i
t well, if Ethan’s reaction was any indication. He lifted her, never breaking the kiss, and carried her back across the room to the bed. Moments later, they were on it, rolling together among the camera, lever arch file and chart. Fleur managed to end up on top—she had no idea how—but this was where she wanted to be, needed to be. Ethan’s smart gray trousers did even less than his jeans had earlier to conceal and contain his solid erection. Still in her doctor’s uniform, Fleur’s black cotton trousers were the only barrier between her and whatever it was he could offer. She wanted her trousers gone, his too. She reached down to unfasten Ethan’s pants, but he covered her hand with his, preventing her.

  “No, love. You first.”

  Fleur frowned, baffled. “What? I do not understand. You want…”

  “I do want. I do indeed want. But not yet. First, we deal with you.”

  She frowned, opened her mouth to argue, but he sealed it with his, flipping her onto her back. Now Ethan was the aggressor, now he took the lead, and Fleur was carried along as he deftly slipped the buttons on her medic’s tunic top. He opened the front to find just a vest top underneath and her white lace bra.

  “Mmm, pretty.” He smiled at her, briefly glanced up to meet her startled gaze before he dipped his head to nudge the bra cup down and reveal her nipple. He flicked his tongue across it and Fleur’s pussy squeezed in response. Her underwear was moist, becoming wetter all the time as he opened his mouth around her nipple, to suck, to scrape it with his teeth. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. Fleur cried out, her moan one of surprise mixed with joy. Ethan did not let up, releasing her other breast to subject that hard little bud to the same exquisite treatment. Fleur writhed under him, her words a confused tangle of French, English and Arabic as Ethan ramped up the pressure.

  He unfastened her trousers and slid them down her legs. Fleur lifted her bottom helpfully then kicked the trousers away. All the time Ethan peeled her clothes from her body, she was conscious of what was happening, what she was doing, what Ethan was doing. She had never behaved like this before, never even contemplated doing anything like this. Not even when first married—especially not then, perhaps.

  She knew with absolute certainty that this madness was rooted in the knowledge that soon he would be gone, she need never face him again. In a matter of days, all this would be a memory. And she wanted this memory more than anything. She was not stopping now.

  With a few deft movements, Ethan slipped her tunic and vest from her shoulders, and unfastened her bra. In moments, all her clothing lay scattered on the floor, yet his seemed uncannily intact. When Fleur would have made a further attempt to even things up, Ethan just chuckled and slid from her reach. He worked his way down her nude body, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her abdomen. He swore in appreciation of her waxed, naked mound, and Fleur breathed a belated sigh of relief. Not all Western men liked this particular custom. Her husband had insisted on it, and she’d realized she preferred her body this way and had opted to maintain it in the years since his death.

  Ethan trailed the backs of his knuckles over the smoothness as Fleur clamped her legs together in sudden self-consciousness. Ethan dropped a brief kiss on her navel then turned his head to smile at her. Their eyes met and held.

  “Open for me, honey.” He uttered his command in a low, sexy tone, his voice gentle, but he expected to be obeyed.

  And Fleur wanted to obey, she wanted this, wanted him to touch her. It was just—more than she’d ever done before with a man not her husband.

  “Close your eyes, sweetheart, and open your legs.” Ethan’s tone was, if anything, even lower. But it had hardened too, the timbre of command now unmistakable.

  The desire to do as she was told became irresistible. With a conscious effort, Fleur lowered her eyelids, raised her hands to lay her arms back on the pillow behind her head. And she parted her thighs.

  Ethan placed his palms on her inner thighs and gently opened her legs farther. Fleur did not resist. Her breath hitched as he trailed his fingers across her inner thighs to her sensitive folds. He stroked, parted her with aching tenderness. She knew he was looking at her, could feel his gaze on her as surely as she felt his fingers. And she loved that knowledge, loved the intimacy of this moment with this virtual stranger.

  His breath feathered across her clit, a riffle of air as he blew on her. She might have murmured something—or perhaps it was just a purring in her throat. She did not know, did not care. She lifted her hips, offering herself to him now as he spread her inner lips wide open with his fingers. His tongue, when he at last laid it across her clit, felt hot. Soft, yet firm at the same time. Now she did vocalize, though she had nothing coherent to say. It was just a sound of need, of longing. Of having waited far too long.

  Ethan seemed to get it, seemed to know what she needed. He flicked her clit with his tongue, at the same time sinking one finger deep inside her pussy. Fleur surged her hips upward, and Ethan responded by laying his arms across her stomach, holding her still. He was not rough, just determined—and knowing. He leaned in, increasing the pressure with his clever mouth, licking her clit hard then drawing it between his lips to suck it as he had her nipples just minutes earlier. That had been heavenly. This was just divine. Sheer bliss.

  Ethan withdrew his finger then drove it back in again, two fingers this time. She was tight, could feel the friction against her sensitive inner walls. Ethan seemed to know just how, just where…

  Fleur gasped as he found her G-spot and rubbed. Her orgasm started to uncoil, deep within her, building, gathering strength.

  “I feel, I… That’s…”

  Ethan increased the speed of his thrusting, finger-fucking her expertly as she writhed against his restraining arm. He increased the suction against her clit, only slightly, but Fleur let out a low moan. A scrape of his teeth, and she screamed as her release grabbed and swept her away. Fleur’s entire nervous system crackled as her climax washed over her, pulsing waves of pleasure starting at her pussy and sweeping along her limbs. Her body shook under the onslaught, and Ethan spread his fingers inside her to increase the sensation and draw out her release, dragging every last shuddering tingle from her.

  At last, it ended. Her body stopped pulsing, her senses reassembled. Fleur lay still as Ethan lifted his head to drop a kiss onto her stomach, his fingers still inside her, but unmoving now. Slowly, Fleur opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling above her, idly admiring the traditional Moroccan artwork decorating the room. She ought to speak, should say something. What was usual at a time like this? And what would happen next?

  He would fuck her. That always came next. Foreplay, then fucking. He’d pleasured her, now it was his turn. Fleur wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, though, what she hoped for next. Or even whether she was entitled to object, given what he’d just done for her.

  “You’re tensing up again, honey. Why is that?”

  Ethan’s question took her by surprise. How did he know what she was feeling, hoping for? Not hoping for?

  “I am not. I…”

  “You think I’m going to drop my pants and fuck you now, and you’re not quite sure that’s what you want. Am I right?”

  “I…” Speechless, Fleur had no response to that. He was right. He was spot on. And, incredibly, it seemed to be okay.

  Ethan shifted, drew himself up to lie alongside her, leaning up on one elbow. He raked her naked form with his eyes, idly brushed her right nipple with the backs of his fingers. He glanced at the hard, pebbling nub then met her eyes.

  “That’s not how this is going to be. You will be sure. I’ll make you sure, then I’ll fuck you. Not now, though. Now, this, was for you. Just you. Because you needed it. That’s all.”

  “All?” Fleur did not understand. She was mystified. Surely a man, any man, would want his due? Apparently not Ethan Savage. He lay beside her, pulled her into his arms and simply held her. And it no longer mattered that she was naked and he still fully dressed.

  Long minutes passed
before Fleur spoke again. “What must you think of me? I do not usually do this.” She paused. “I never do this.”

  He chuckled, nuzzled her hair. “What I think is that you don’t do it very often. Maybe you should.”

  “I cannot believe I did this. It was not planned, I never intended…”

  Now Ethan laughed. “Ah, but the best plans are the ones you don’t make. You just know the next step when you see it. You saw it, and you took it. Opportunism.”

  “But I hardly know you. I only met you today. I cannot believe this has happened between us.”

  “Well, I admit I wouldn’t have put money on it, either, the first time I set eyes on you on that donkey. I’m glad it did, though. You know, you’re even more beautiful when you come, the way your body stiffens and your breath stops for a few moments.”

  Fleur considered this. “You were obviously paying close attention. I am mortified.”

  Ethan dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I was. Always do. And no, you’re not. You’re surprised, perhaps, maybe a little embarrassed. But nowhere near mortified. Get used to it, honey. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

  “I thought—”

  “I intend to provide you with many more orgasms, but we’ll discuss it tomorrow. Over dinner. Now, I was just headed over to the bar. Would you care to join me?”

  More orgasms? Fleur’s pussy tightened at the mere mention. What was happening to her? “I cannot. I am on duty.”

  “If you’re needed, the hotel can call you. Or we could stay here, if you like. I’d even let you get dressed, though I do prefer you naked.” He trailed his fingers along her shoulder then down to her breast, gently cupping the soft mound by way of illustration.