by Sandra Hill
As he climbed the front staircase, he chuckled to himself as he recalled the shocked expression on Samantha’s face when he’d made his sexual proposition. She was no doubt hiding in one of the six bedrooms on the second floor where Lily Beth’s air mattress had been moved. Aaron’s bed was his tonight, he’d called dibs on it earlier today.
He’d been teasing about the friends-with-benefits, one-week-stand sex, of course. Sort of.
No, he’d been serious.
Semi-serious.
Testing the waters, so to speak.
Samantha’s waters.
That is crude, even for me. Blame it on sexual deprivation syndrome.
He still had the half hard-on he’d been carrying around all day when he thought about her, which had been a lot. He might have to take care of business himself if he wanted to get any sleep.
With a jaw-cracking yawn, he opened the door to Aaron’s bedroom and went stone still.
The room was illuminated not with the overhead light or the bedside lamp, but instead by a dozen different candles of all shapes and sizes. Aaron must have kept a stash for emergencies . . . or seduction purposes. Tonight they were clearly for seduction.
Samantha lay on the white sheets of the bed, her arms extended over her head, one knee raised. Her red hair, which had been in a knot atop her head a short time ago, was now spread over the pillows and on her shoulders. She’d even got the lips right. Cherry red.
Did he mention she was nude? Skin-baring, freckles-glaring, eyes-beckoning. And, man, was she beckoning, with that little Mona Lisa smile! But she was also embarrassed, he could tell by the way she blushed. Or was that a sexual flush heating her face and neck?
He’d thought to shock her with his sexual fantasies, but she’d hoisted him on his own . . . well, you know what. And he was glad of it!
His half hard-on went instantly hair-trigger, full tilt boogie hard and aching. He put a hand to himself. Slow down, Trigger, he told himself. He might have even said it out loud, so disoriented was he by this wonderful surprise. He had enough sense, though, to begin to pull his T-shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. He toed off his bath thongs and kicked them aside. One of them shot out the open French doors onto the balcony.
He was still frozen in place, just inside the doorway.
“Did I get it right?” she asked in a voice husky with what he hoped was arousal. Her nipples were erect if that was any indication. Delicious pink nubs atop mounds the size of grapefruit halves. Just right.
The red curls between her thighs seemed to glisten with moisture. But that might be due to the flickering candlelight, or wishful thinking on his part.
“Perfect,” he said in an equally husky voice, and no doubt at all that his was due to arousal, which became apparent when he shoved down his shorts and briefs together to puddle at his feet. If she had any doubts, she could tell by the erection that sprang forth. Full-blown, vein-popping, bead-showing arousal.
He stepped further into the room and slammed the door shut with a bare foot. They probably heard the sound all the way to Lafayette. The sound of a man crossing the line.
“If you keep gawking at me, I’m going to die of embarrassment.” She groaned. “This is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.” He took several more steps ’til he was almost at the foot of the bed. He studied her body with fascination. Truly, Samantha had a body like no other woman. Maybe it was the freckles against the creamy skin. Maybe it was her long legs and small waist. Maybe it was the good parts . . . her perfect breasts, her nest of red curls, her full red lips, or her green eyes that sparked resistance even as she surrendered to him.
She closed her eyes and said, “Turn around so I can crawl out of bed and go hide in a closet.”
He laughed. “Not a chance. Besides, there are no closets here.”
“If you dare to laugh or make fun of me, I’m out of here.”
“Why would I mock you when I’ve just been handed my number one fantasy?” With that, he knelt on the bottom edge of the bed and began to crawl up and over her, like her cougar cat when on the hunt, except he had no claws, just fingers that itched to explore.
Her eyes shot open as she felt his weight on the mattress and his movement on the bed.
He used his knees to separate her legs and arranged himself between her open thighs. Chest to breast, belly to belly, divining rod to the mother lode. Braced on his elbows, he looked down at her. “Cherry lips,” he observed and grazed his mouth over hers, a teasing whisper of a kiss. He was trying his damnedest not to move too fast or this fantasy would be over before it began.
“‘Cherries in the Snow’ by Revlon,” she informed him with a breathy nervousness. “A classic color. Supposed to be kissproof.”
“Ah, we should test that, shouldn’t we?” And he did. Thoroughly. He kissed her with soft, sweeping motions, shaping her lips to a perfect fit with his. He kissed her hard, demanding an equal response. He pressed his tongue into her mouth and began a slow thrusting rhythm. He encouraged her to explore his mouth as well by sucking on the tip of her tongue.
Once, he raised his head to study her already kiss-swollen lips. “Yep. Kissproof.”
“Good thing. I wasn’t looking forward to returning the lipstick to the beauty counter at Nordstrom’s. Imagine trying to explain your experiment. ‘But he’s a doctor,’ I would say. ‘If he says the product is defective, then it must—’”
He nipped her bottom lip to stop her nervous ramble. Then he resumed his kisses, and he didn’t care if they were experimental or any other bloody thing. He liked kissing Samantha.
The whole time, he tried to keep the rest of his body still, but even so, he instinctively brushed his chest hairs back and forth across her breasts, teasing the nipples into rigid sentinels of aching pleasure. He knew they were aching because she moaned into his open mouth and arched her back to give him better access.
“Do that again,” she said huskily.
He did.
Her cherry lips parted, and her green eyes glazed over.
Down below, he did not dare move. His throbbing penis rested along her female channel, on the outside, but hot damn wanted to be inside. He tried not to think about the primal yearning for intercourse so he could concentrate on other “matters” first. Like her ears, which appeared to be especially sensitive, and her breasts, of course, which were driving them both crazy, and the neat little inverted belly button he’d noticed before covering her with his body, along with the silk-like red curls that begged to be touched, along with the treasures they hid. He even wanted to explore the back of her knees and the arch of her narrow feet. Not that he had a knee or foot fetish. It was just that he’d discovered in his not-so-vast (compared to his brother) sexual experience, these were often-missed erotic zones on some women’s bodies.
He raised himself so that he was kneeling between her legs, then leaned down to swipe his tongue between her breasts. He smiled and said, “I knew they would taste like this.”
“What?”
“Your freckles.”
“Oh, God!” She tried to cover herself with her hands, which was impossible. She had freckles everywhere. “My ugly freckles!”
“No, no, no!” he chided. “No lowering your arms.” He put them back where they had been before, the hands wrapped around the spindles in the headboard. Then he told her, “Your freckles are not ugly.” It was amazing to him that a woman with so much business self-confidence could be so insecure about her body.
“Furthermore,” he went on, “they’re delicious.” It was a sign of his melting brain that he could actually use the word furthermore. He continued, “Your freckles taste like honey with a ginger zing. I can’t wait to taste them all.”
“Fool!” she said, but he could tell that she was pleased. “That’s my Honey Love Triple Milled Soap.”
“Well, then it must be your freckles that add the ginger tones.”
“Ginger, huh? You bette
r watch out. Ginger has a bite to it. You could get ginger brush burns on your tongue.”
“I’ll risk it,” he said, and began his tasty exploration.
Sometimes she giggled, sometimes she gasped, sometimes she admired his expertise, sometimes she expounded on his daring, but all the time he had her attention.
He kneaded her breasts and flicked the nipples with his thumbs before he put his mouth to one and sucked and licked then sucked again. By then she was flailing from side to side with one continuous, “Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh . . .”
In response he moved to the other breast for equal ministration. He felt like saying, “Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh!” himself.
And all the while, he kept having to return her hands to the headboard spindles, forcing her to be more vulnerable to his lovemaking.
When he kissed his way down the center of her body, he skipped over the place he most wanted to be. Instead, he stroked and caressed her from thigh to knees to toes and back up again.
At each spot along the way, he asked, “Do you like that?”
“How about that?”
“And this?” He tickled the back of her knees with his fingertips.
“Does this hurt?”
“Harder?”
“Enough!” she said finally, taking hold of his most precious body part and pulling him toward her.
“Careful, careful, careful,” he gasped out.
“You can torture me more later. Or I’ll torture you. But for now . . . DO IT!”
He tried to laugh but it came out as a choking gurgle because she was guiding him with precision into her body where the inner muscles were already convulsing around him into orgasm. She was tight and hot and he felt so good. In fact, he might have murmured, “So good! So good!” Or it might have been her.
But that was not the end of it. Not by a long stretch. They got down to the serious business of fucking then . . . or lovemaking, if he were capable of politeness.
With his outstretched arms braced on the mattress he thrust into her, then made a slow, slow exit, relishing the way her channel tightened on him, as if it didn’t want to let go. In again, and out. Over and over.
She had her hands on his butt. Her feet were flat on the mattress with her knees raised high, bracketing him. She kept giving him directions, as if he was capable of following anything but reflex at the moment.
“Go slower.”
“Faster.”
“Stay. Stay, stay, stay.”
“What was that you just did. Do it again!”
At one point, he rolled over on his back and she sat atop him like the redheaded goddess she was. Her lips were still cherry red, but he was incapable of telling her at the moment that the lipstick was in fact kissproof.
Then he was on top again.
Good thing it was a king-size bed. Otherwise, they would probably be on the floor by now.
But then he was the one to give orders when he said, “Now!” and slammed into her one last time. She cried out in a long affirmation of her orgasm while he arched his neck back and roared out his ejaculation.
He lay heavily atop her while they both attempted to bring their breathing back to normal. When he raised his head to look at her, he saw that she was as stunned as he was by the intensity of their lovemaking.
“Ain’t lust grand? We might want to renegotiate our one-night . . . rather one-week . . . stand,” he said. “I’m thinking I won’t be satisfied for at least a month.”
For some reason, what he’d considered a compliment displeased her. “Sorry, but just until this caper is over. That’s all. It ends when I leave here,” she said, but she wouldn’t look at him as she spoke.
Trying to ameliorate what offense he must have committed, he leaned down to kiss her lightly on her face which was turned to the side and asked, “How do you feel about making love in a rain forest?”
Thankfully, she looked back at him and smiled. “As long as there are no animals in the trees. I draw the line at monkeys.”
It wasn’t the Amazon, exactly, but there was a snake . . .
For a brief moment, Samantha felt a twinge of hurt at Daniel’s dismissal of their lovemaking. His remark pretty much said that she . . . they . . . could enjoy each other in casual encounters, but their “relationship” would be of short duration.
The only problem was, what had happened with him . . . the best sex of her life . . . hadn’t felt casual to her.
Her pride was dinged, but, honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted more than that, either. In fact, she’d told him a short time ago that she didn’t. He wasn’t the forever kind of man she was looking for. One who would cherish her and a family.
Yeah, she’d thought this afternoon that she might be falling in love with Daniel, but she hadn’t fallen so far yet that her heart could be broken. At least she didn’t think so.
If men could separate lust from love, surely women could, too. Cosmo, and Hollywood, and the Internet certainly thought so.
Her reverie was broken by Daniel speaking. “Are you really balking about getting in a shower with me after what we just did?” He was leaning against the open doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. Nude.
She, on the other hand, was still in bed with a sheet drawn up to cover her intimate parts. He was probably laughing at her sudden modesty after the show she’d just put on.
“Of course not,” she said, still clutching her linen protector. “I’m not sure I want to get my hair wet.”
“Your hair is already damp from all this humidity . . . and our hot sex.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“Who? Angus and Lily Beth have a bathroom downstairs. I doubt whether they’re going to want to shower or take a bath in the middle of the night.”
Did he have to be so logical?
“All right then. Stay in bed, and you can play out my second best fantasy.”
“I’ve already heard all your fantasies.”
“Not this one. I was saving it for another time and a more adventurous partner. Anyhow, there’s this guy standing in doorway, very nonchalant, even though he’s just had mind-blowing sex.”
“Is he nude?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Horny?”
“As a bull during mating season.”
She made a prissy tsk-ing noise.
“So, this guy is just standing there, watching this red-haired lady who is sitting in his bed. She doesn’t know he’s there. So, she drops the sheet she’s been clutching like a virginal shroud and begins to pleasure herself.”
“Whaaat?”
“First, she touches her own breasts. Lifts them up from underneath. Then she fondles her nipples, even tweaks them a little. Her breathing gets heavier.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Thank you. She drops back onto the pillows and spreads her legs. Ever so slowly, her one hand moves lower and lower. Her hips rise and fall as she imitates the rhythm of sex.”
“I’m not listening.”
“She’s panting now as she raises her knees and spreads wider. Her fingertips brush over the curly pelt between her legs. There’s already a moistness there that—”
Samantha jumped out of the bed and stomped over to him. “All right. A shower sounds good.”
“I thought you’d agree,” he said, pinching her butt as she passed by, then taking her hand to lead her to the bathroom. Like she needed him to find the bathroom! He was probably holding on to her so she wouldn’t run away.
“How many of those fantasies do you have tucked up your sleeve?” She looked pointedly at his bare arms, sans shirtsleeve, and she amended, “Rather, filed away in your wicked brain?”
“Hundreds.”
“What?”
“Aaron and I used to memorize passages from Penthouse Magazine.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“And you still remember?”
“Honey, there are some things a guy never forgets.”
They were in the bathroom by now, and Daniel said, “Wait here.”
The bathroom was one of those large ones like they didn’t build today; there was so much wasted space. Because there was no closet, a white, two-door, tall chest held linens and bath accessories. The bathroom’s size also accommodated a clawfoot tub, a pedestal sink, a dressing table and stool, and a man’s shaving stand. And, of course, the ultra-deluxe shower that Aaron had installed. Totally out of sync with the historical nature of the mansion, but deliciously enticing on a hot Louisiana night. Any night, actually.
Daniel returned, carrying a bunch of lit candles from the bedroom. “That fluorescent overhead light isn’t moody enough,” he said, placing the candles at various spots around the bathroom.
“Moody? That’s how everyone describes you. Doctor Moody.”
“This is another kind of moody.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
Really, she’d never witnessed this playful side of Daniel, but then she’d never seen his sexy side either, except in her dreams. She liked them both.
“C’mon,” he encouraged, drawing her into the large shower stall with him. “Welcome to my Amazon paradise.” He pressed a button which caused a hazy green light to fill the space and highlight the tropical flowers and trees etched into the glass.
“Very nice. Do you have luscious fruits growing in your rain forest?”
“Only passion fruit,” he said, glancing at her breasts, then downward, adding, “and bushes with lacy red foliage.”
“And a snake,” she pointed out, glancing at his penis which was erect again.
He laughed and asked, “Do you want hot or cold water?”
“Lukewarm at first, then cool.”
