A Fine Specimen

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Alex prided himself on treating his women well. He wasn’t long-term mate material and he made sure his dates knew it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t treat them like ladies—even the ones who weren’t—while they were with him.

  Caitlin was a lady from the top of her head to the bottom of her pretty little feet—and he’d treated her like a two-bit whore.

  Treating a woman right did not include jumping her like a rabid wolverine in rut. No foreplay, no easing in gently, no sirree. He’d just slammed into her with all the force of his hips. She was small too. She’d been aroused, no mistaking that, but he’d entered her so hard and so fast he might even have hurt her. Jesus! The thought made him slightly sick.

  He was clutching her ass tightly, so tightly he was probably leaving marks on her delicate skin. He’d grabbed her ass in an attempt to get inside her as deeply as possible. Well, stopping his fingers from digging into her soft flesh might be a good first step toward reparation for the damage done.

  With a wince, Alex opened his hands, braced them on the mattress and lifted his head, ready for anything.

  Whatever she wanted to say to him, he deserved. Caitlin had every right in the world to be mad at him and he wouldn’t blink at whatever name she wanted to call him. If she wanted to slap him, he wouldn’t even try to duck the blow. He’d do anything she wanted, give her anything she needed, except for one thing.

  He wouldn’t—couldn’t—pull out of her. His cock wanted to stay right where it was, forever. He hadn’t even begun to get her out of his blood.

  Trying to convince her to let him have another chance was going to be hard though, after slamming into her and coming one second after that. He was marshalling words and trying out possible angles and excuses in his head when he looked down at her.

  His heart nearly stopped at the sight. Jesus, what a beauty. He’d looked down at countless women beneath him in his life, but never one as lovely as this one. The light from the full moon outside the window lit her face with a pale, unearthly glow, as if she were a pearl under water, silvering her pale blue eyes. She looked more like a mermaid than a flesh and blood woman.

  She was silent, simply looking up at him, his face a mere inch above hers. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She wasn’t smiling and she wasn’t frowning as she stared up into his eyes.

  “Caitlin,” he whispered, hoping that she’d let him tell her how sorry he was for treating her like this before she started screaming and biting him. He had to let her know that—

  “Oh God,” Caitlin moaned and then said his name on a low whisper that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Alex. Alex.” Her back arched and her hips tilted upward, grinding against him, eyes half-closing. Then he felt her clenching around his cock in short, rhythmic bursts, like a little velvet vise, and his heart nearly stopped.

  She was coming.

  She was coming! Her legs and arms tightened around him in a silken embrace, the hot perfume of her skin filling his nostrils, soft, warm skin everywhere he touched her. Fuck, it was unbearably intense, feeling her little pussy contracting around him, milking him of the last spurts of come. He lowered his head until their foreheads met, feeling the sharp contractions of her cunt all over his body. It seemed even his heart pulsed to the same beat.

  Caitlin sighed his name again, her breath sweet on his face, and closed her eyes.

  Most women, in Alex’s experience, looked tense while coming, as if coming somehow hurt. Their faces scrunched up and the veins in their necks stood out and their mouths turned down. Not Caitlin. Her face softened into a dreamy expression, as if she were reading poetry by the lake instead of lying under him, climaxing.

  He buried his face in her hair and hung on.

  “Are you okay?” Alex’s deep voice was right in her ear, so close his breath made her shiver.

  Was she okay? Caitlin took stock, wriggling her fingers and toes. Moving anything else was impossible, since he lay sprawled on her and he weighed a ton.

  She had to consciously expand her lungs to breathe and could feel her joints creak from the weight.

  “Peachy,” she gasped.

  He felt delicious on top of her though. Her arms could barely encompass his shoulders. Even under those boring work clothes it had been clear that Alex Cruz was a fit man, but she really hadn’t suspected all these muscles. Thousands of them, deep, hard as steel, covered with acres of the most luscious golden brown skin she’d ever seen.

  “I want to go down on you,” his deep voice announced in her ear, and her whole system jolted at the idea. God, could she stand it? Her heart had nearly stopped as it was with the force of her orgasm. He hadn’t even had to do much. Nothing, actually. Just…be inside her. That had been enough to push her right over the edge into the strongest orgasm she’d ever had.

  “That’s nice.” She did her best to pull in another chestful of air, pushing against his weight on her. “I’d like that.”

  She might not survive it, but she’d certainly like it.

  “In just a minute,” he said, words coming out slowly. “I’m on it.”

  He certainly was. On her, actually. And in her too. Still hard.

  His breathing was slowing down, heavy breaths shifting her hair. A lock of it tickled her cheek but she didn’t dare brush it away. Didn’t dare move.

  This was just so wonderful, she wanted to commit it to memory. The feel of his steely muscles under her hands, the thick mat of hair covering his chest tickling her breasts and stomach. The feel of his hot, hard cock inside her, a touch softer than before but still much harder than Marvin had ever managed on his best days.

  “Give me a second.” His voice was slurred, as if he were drugged.

  “Take your time,” Caitlin said softly, running her fingers through his thick hair.

  He grunted.

  His weight somehow settled more heavily against her and he let out a soft groan. A second later, a faint buzz-saw sound echoed in her ear.

  He was snoring.

  Caitlin grinned at the ceiling, arched her back to get a little oxygen into her lungs and turned her head until her lips met his massive biceps.

  Inside of a minute, she was fast asleep too.

  Chapter Seven

  Caitlin realized that up until now, she’d woken up beside boys. Alex Cruz was definitely not a boy.

  She tried to stretch but he was still sprawled mostly on top of her, her legs still around him. His golden-toned skin made a fabulously interesting contrast with the white sheets.

  Alex looked intimidating and powerful. Even sprawled on a bed, fast asleep, he looked like what he was—a predator.

  His subconscious was telling him that there were no danger signals in his immediate surroundings so he slept through the small noises she was making. But Caitlin had no doubt that at the first sign of real trouble, Alex would be instantly awake, alert and dangerous. And reaching for the gun which was kept in its holster, hooked over the bedpost.

  Strength and character were carved into the harsh planes of his face. She turned her head and examined the hand splayed next to her. Large, graceful, long-fingered, with thick veins rising on the back. And yes, she’d seen correctly that first morning in his office. He had a barbwire tat on his wrist, obviously a relic of his gangbanger days. Barbwire tats were the mark of the Eightballs, a particularly vicious gang whose members’ average life expectancy was nineteen. He’d been lucky to get out in time.

  On the adult Alex, Mr. Straight and Narrow, Mr. Law and Order, the tat looked unbelievably sexy.

  She shivered, remembering how that hand had touched her last night.

  There was a gentle hum in the air, a soft murmuring like…

  Rain.

  Rain?

  She turned her head to look out the window and saw that it was indeed raining outside. The light that filtered in through the open window was silvery and dim. Cool air drifted in through the partially open window. The rain created a gentle, upbeat patter which suited her moo
d.

  She wanted to get up, dance around the room, take a shower, go get some coffee.

  And, well, go to the bathroom.

  Caitlin wiggled, hoping she could get Alex to roll off her without having to wake him up. He was so amazingly heavy. She pushed gently on his shoulders, trying to roll him enough to slide out from under, but it didn’t work. He was dead weight, so deeply asleep he could have been in a coma.

  She, on the other hand, was revved. Energy pulsed through her veins and she felt tinglingly alive from her hair to the tips of her toes. Staying in bed one second more was not an option, she had to get up.

  He was breathing very heavily. Snoring again, actually, if you wanted to be technical.

  “Alex.” Caitlin dug her fingers into his shoulder, finding little purchase. The man’s muscles had no give at all. Louder now. “Alex.”

  He gave an inelegant snort and his eyelids flickered. She put her lips close to his ear. “I need to go to the bathroom. You need to move.”

  It must have penetrated into the deepest recesses of his brain, because he rolled, just a little, just enough for her to slide out from under him. His semisoft penis had still been inside her. Her movements pulled him out of her and she missed him immediately. Her nether muscles had instinctively clenched, trying to keep him inside.

  Caitlin stood beside the bed, just a little shocked at what her body was feeling—stiff, sore, whisker-burned, with a heaviness in her breasts and between her legs. In some insane way, her body was still feeling his. Between her legs, it was as if he were still inside her. She felt stretched and a little sore there, as if he had somehow branded her.

  He’d branded her in another way, as well. Caitlin couldn’t even begin to imagine any other lover pleasing her, fulfilling her the way Alex had. She’d spent twenty-eight years without having a clue as to what sex was really about. After Alex, she would undoubtedly spend the rest of her life never finding anything like this ever again.

  It wasn’t so much his technique. Last night there hadn’t been any technique at all. It had been more of a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of thing. It didn’t make any difference. He’d been massively overexcited and therefore fast. She forgave him—and how. That someone like Alex, who could have any woman he wanted, could be incredibly excited about her was its own turn-on.

  Not to mention what she’d felt. If he’d been fast, it didn’t matter because the entire evening had been foreplay. Just being near him, breathing the same air, touching him, was foreplay. She’d had no idea her body could respond like that to a man. It hadn’t ever before and probably never would again.

  She shook her head. No sad thoughts. Not today. Alex was like a comet flashing through her life, showering it with heat and light. The comet would burn itself out, because that was its nature. So she had to hug each moment tightly, appreciate it, and be able to let it go at the end, because that was her nature.

  Gingerly, she made her way to the bathroom, wincing a little.

  Alex’s en suite bathroom was big, with a huge window looking out over a garden, privacy guaranteed by a row of tall poplar trees fencing in the garden. Caitlin opened the window and took a huge breath. The rain had almost stopped and the air was clean and fresh. It might turn muggy later if the sun came out, but right now it was like air at the dawn of time, fresh, rain-scented, brand new, rich with promise.

  Unsurprisingly, Alex’s bathroom was decorated with black and white tiles. The fixtures were white porcelain with old-fashioned brass taps. Beyond a good brand of soap, a cache of disposal razors and shaving cream, shampoo, a comb and a brush, toothbrush—one, she was happy to see—and toothpaste, he had no personal care items. No cologne, no aftershave, no creams, nothing. A big open shelf held a stack of folded white towels, and that was it.

  She couldn’t find a shower cap, so she wrapped a big towel around her head and stepped into the shower. The strong jet of hot water soothed her sore muscles.

  She stretched, on top of the world. Turning around under the spray, she couldn’t remember when she had felt as great as this. Her experience in mornings after was limited, but this morning after very definitely topped her personal list of favorites.

  Once she’d dried off, she contemplated her nakedness.

  Her dress was still downstairs. Caitlin thought of it fondly. She’d had to give up breathing to fit into that nipped-in waist but the look on Alex’s face when she had emerged from the elevator had been worth it. Like the ad said, it had been priceless. Who needed breathing anyway?

  Smiling, she lifted Alex’s shirt from the floor and put it on. It hung to her knees. When she rolled up the sleeves, it was as modest as a summer dress. She inhaled deeply. There was a faint scent of soap and something that was unmistakably Alex. No aftershave. Alex didn’t need aftershave. He emitted godzillions of utterly male pheromones all on his own. An eau de cologne would have simply masked it. And there was no commercial cologne on earth as riveting as Alex’s smell. God, it was enticing.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled again. Smells go straight to the limbic system—the dark, primitive part of the brain that operates on the senses and has no use for thoughts. For an instant, thoughts fled her brain entirely as the smell evoked powerful memories of the night before. Alex’s smell was unique—slightly woodsy, slightly musky, laced with clean sweat.

  For a second, Caitlin stood there, electrified. Her legs wobbled and her thighs clenched. Breath whooshed out of her and she found it hard to breathe, remembering. Her vagina contracted once—a sharp, muscular movement as if it was clenching around Alex’s penis—and a soft sound escaped her.

  She whipped around to see whether she’d woken him up but Alex was sleeping like the dead, one arm off the mattress, hand curled on the floor, the other spread over the rest of the bed, as if she were still there. His strong back rose and fell regularly, his dark, thick lashes didn’t even flutter. He was out like a light.

  A predator like Alex only slept like that when he knew there was no danger in the room. And there wasn’t. The danger was all in the other direction. To her, not to him.

  Caitlin caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror and the expression of yearning on her face was…embarrassing. This man was going to break her heart if she wasn’t careful. Sleeping with him had been fantastic. Incredible. Overwhelming.

  And, well, a terrible idea.

  The mirror showed a pink-faced Caitlin, mouth swollen and red, whisker burns on her cheeks, hair a wild cloud around her head. A walking advertisement for sex.

  Needing a distraction, she checked out the bedroom, searching for clues to the endlessly enticing mystery that was Alex Cruz.

  Last night she’d been too blasted by lust to look around her, but in the soft morning light the room spoke volumes. Alex’s bedroom was like his office and his living room. Clean, neat, with just the essentials to be able to function as a bedroom. Oddly enough, the bedroom had artwork on the walls—a series of black-and-white photographs in simple, narrow black frames.

  They were very good—a shell on the beach, an old bicycle against a crumbling wall, a close-up of a branch in bloom, all showing an excellent sense of proportion and balance. Had he taken them himself or had he bought them? Either way, it was a little window into an unexpected artistic streak.

  Curiosity about the man who had just become her lover overcame her.

  She wrenched the closet door open. It was so different from her own closet it could have been intended for another species. But it was definitely Alex Cruz’s closet. A thick, black cashmere trench coat hung neatly from a padded hanger, together with four pairs of neatly pressed black jeans, ten pairs of slacks and ten men’s jackets, all black and all identical. In neat stacks on shelves were piles of identical, white long-sleeved shirts, white short-sleeved shirts, a pile of black turtlenecks, white tee shirts and black tee shirts. The closet smelled of starch and clean fabric. Looking down, she saw eight identical pairs of black lace-up shoes and two pairs of Nikes. The one pair
of loafers he had were clearly for living dangerously. Like last night.

  Stripping the laces from one of the shoes, Caitlin tied her hair back and, humming softly, made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The rain had finally stopped and she could see large, fluffy clouds rolling across the pale blue sky through the kitchen window. Magnificent sky. Magnificent clouds. Magnificent morning. The best morning ever, since the beginning of the world.

  A shaft of bright sunlight glanced off one of the poplars, making the raindrops glisten as if the leaves were made of diamonds. She hugged herself in delight at the sight. It was all so wondrous, so perfect. Life was so exquisitely beautiful.

  Caitlin was perfectly familiar with the biochemistry of infatuation. The technical term for it was limerence—and it was a killer. Right now, norepinephrine was cascading wildly through her system, triggering the breakdown of glycogen and triacylglycerols, providing a massive spurt of energy, making her heart beat faster, her senses more acute, switching off the logic circuits in the brain.

  In all the important ways, the biochemistry of infatuation mirrored insanity. She knew that academically, but feeling it, for the first time—well, that was something else.

  Opening the back door, she stepped out and took a big breath of the clean, pristine air, feeling the oxygen flooding into her system right down to her toes.

  This particular back garden could only belong to Alex. If he could have had a black and white garden, he would have. Still, he had the next best thing. The garden was a small, neat expanse of close-cropped grass in a square area. Each corner had a box shrub pruned into a severely square topiary. Not a blade of grass out of place. Not one flower or ornamental plant besides the box shrubs and the poplars backing them. The garden practically cried out for some color and shapes.

  For an instant, Caitlin let herself go and imagined creating a small herb garden off to the right, near the kitchen door, a rockery straight ahead and a flower garden on the left. She would plant pansies right about now, the soft purple and fuchsia kind—