by Anna Jeffrey
Tentatively, I tested with the tip of my tongue and found a salty-sweet taste, not altogether unpleasant.
“See?” he said.
I only looked back at him, saying nothing. He kissed me again and dipped his tongue into my mouth, sharing more of my own juices.
You’ve just crossed another line, my inner voice told me.
His fingers tapped my hip. “Lift up a little.” I lifted my bottom, allowing him to push my skirt and my half-slip all the way to my waist, exposing my belly above the edge of my bikini panties.
He gave the inside of my thigh a gentle squeeze and smiled down at me. “That’s better. Open your legs a little more…”
As if I had become a person with whom I wasn’t acquainted, I let my outside knee fall to the side, shamelessly exposing my hot, swollen sex. At this moment, opening my thighs to a total stranger felt like the thing to do. I was beyond doing otherwise.
He pulled my leg over his thigh. His hand came up, slid beneath the waistband of my panties and cupped my sex, again pressing and circling my pubis with the heel of his hand. That odd feeling deep inside my sex returned and clawed at me again. Oh, yes. I could definitely come like this.
But a semblance of sanity made another heroic effort and broke through the erotic haze I had fallen into. I would die if Paul appeared and, God forbid, caught us. “Listen, Paul could come up and—”
“He’s not coming up here,” he whispered, his mouth against my ear. “Be still now….” His finger began to rim my opening. “This is where I want to put my tongue. Think about it.…”
Tongue? A shiver shimmied all the way through me. I completely forgot about Paul.
The finger slid into me, followed by another, stretching me and working inside me. “Ooh…”
Then, In….And in….And in….And over and over….Liquid heat surged through my veins and I whined and wished for his fingers to be the big, thick cock I had imagined him to have. I was on the brink again, mindless and helpless. The renewed tension that had coiled in my belly had almost become a cramp. I braced my outside foot on the floor, levering my knee to open myself wider. “Oh…. Oooh…. Tack….please…”
“Pull your other knee back a little more…..”
Dignity and modesty had forsaken me. The throbbing core of my sex had taken control of my body and brain. I obeyed his orders and hooked my ankle over the back of the sofa.
The pad of his thumb found the demanding bud at the top of my sex. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
He applied just the right pressure. “Tack! Oh, Tack!”
“Go ahead, baby.…Just let go….”
I did and orgasm billowed through me in great waves, making my hips undulate and my vagina clench against his fingers. My head fell back. I grunted breathless little mews until it ended.
I was a mess, a trembling, embarrassed mess. How many women did he know who climaxed almost instantly with nothing more than the touch of his fingers?
“Good, baby. That felt good to me, too.”
And while I was still spinning in a post-orgasmic daze, his warm lips began moving over my neck and jaw. “You were trying so hard. You wanted it bad. How long has it been for you?”
“What?...I don’t know…”
“A while, I could tell.”
Oh, hell. I hated that.
“Just be still now. You’ve got lost time to make up. I want you to come again.”
“I—I can’t…”
“Yes, you can. I’ll show you. Just be still....”
With his free arm, he caught my neck in the crook of his elbow immobilizing me and his fingers found that super-sensitive spot that only BOB had found. I gasped loudly and my hips involuntarily lifted toward his hand.
“Ah, that’s it, right” he said softly.
I couldn’t have answered if I wanted to. Every rational thought had fled from my brain.
He nipped at my earlobe, still stroking inside me. “Just be still, now…”
His thumb began to rub my clitoris again. A guttural noise escaped my throat. I dug my fingers into his shoulder, trying to hold myself in check when everything below my navel had become one greedy vessel of sensation. From a great distance, the fact that Mr. Tack Tackett was not unknowledgeable of female anatomy came to me.
Did I really want to give myself to a man so practiced at seduction and sex?...And on an extremely expensive sofa that didn’t belong to me?
No, I answered and stiffened. “Tack, that’s enough. Don’t—”
“Shh. Just a minute…”
He claimed my mouth again with a sexual rhythm, leaving not even a tiny part of it unexplored, never relenting with agile fingers, rubbing me inside and out. That need deep in my belly already had me in its grip again and I was climbing and climbing. My tiny desperate core felt as if it had grown to the size of a golf ball. My body was quaking. My heart pounded in my chest. Something out of control and scary was going on inside me. I wrenched my mouth away from his. “Tack!...” I grabbed his shirt front for an anchor. “I’m—I’m…coming apart…”
“I’ve got you, baby,” he crooned, his deep husky voice a sonnet. “You’re okay…Let it happen….”
I couldn’t have stopped it if I had wanted to. Orgasm boiled up like magma and exploded through my body. My vagina clenched violently against his finger. My hips bucked in an uncoordinated rhythm. I panted, unable to control my breathing. Muscles deep inside me began convulsing without let-up and I thought I would go mad. Oh, God. It hadn’t been like this with BOB.
“Stop!” I sobbed out.
Instantly, he withdrew his fingers, leaving me with an excruciating emptiness. His hand clutched my nape, bringing the strong scent of sex to my nostrils as he pulled my face against his neck, whispering soothing, if dirty, words. “You’re so good….Your clit is so sensitive.…Aw, baby, you’re so easy.”
Easy? That was the only word that stuck. I hadn’t heard anyone say I was so easy, especially not at the times I hadn’t been able to climax at all. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I was hardly up to a clinical discussion. I was shaken. I had never climaxed so hard. And I was mortified by my wanton reaction to nothing more than his fingers.
He tipped my chin up and placed a tender kiss at the corner of my mouth. “I knew you’d blow my mind when you finally let go,” he said hoarsely. “From here, it only gets better. I promise.”
As I calmed, reality started to sneak back into my mind. How long had it been since we left the lobby? “I’m serious,” I said, my voice tiny and weak. “We have to get back downstairs.”
He heaved a sigh, sat up, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket—I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a man with a handkerchief—pushed my thighs apart, wiped between them, then wiped his hands. On the handkerchief, I spotted a monogram: HOT. Under different circumstances, I would have thought that uproariously funny.
He placed a chaste kiss on my lips, then smiled down at me. “I thought that was good. What’d you think?”
I could be your slave for life.
I closed my eyes and arched my brow. I could barely breathe, much less discuss what he had just done to me. I was amazed he had found BOB’s secret spot….And his fingers had felt so much better than the gel dildo.
“Not talking?” he asked.
I wanted to say, no human being has ever made me come like that, but all I could do was stammer. “It—it was.…No one’s ever…I’ve never—”
He leaned in and tenderly kissed me. “I understand. It’s gonna be even better when we get to a bed and fuck. I promise.”
He told me to lift my bottom again. I did and he straightened my wet panties. He tugged my slip and my skirt into place, then reached down for my shoes. He slipped them onto my feet, stood and pulled me up from the sofa. Still hanging onto to me, he bent and wiped the cushion with his handkerchief.
“Is it wet?” I asked anxiously.
He grinned and gave my lips a quic
k smack. “You worry too much.”
I didn’t want to know if we had marred the sofa. I had the dumb idea that not knowing would give me plausible deniability. I stepped away from him and found my balance on my high heels. God, I could fall apart any minute. Though my knees had all the security of Jell-O, I shifted my hips to help my skirt smooth down. Lap wrinkles still creased it even after I tried to iron them out with my flattened hands. My blouse was askew. He pulled the silk panels together and began to button it.
“I can’t even imagine how my hair looks,” I mumbled, reaching behind myself to unzip my skirt and tuck in my blouse tail. I stole a glance at his bulging fly.
He saw me looking and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll keep a little longer. You okay now?”
I had plenty not to be okay about, but straightening my collar, I swallowed hard and nodded.
My unleashed hair fell around my shoulders. He picked up a small sheaf of it and fingered it. “I do love your hair. It feels like silk.”
My barrette and the Skyline key ring lay on the sofa cushion. I reached down for the barrette, pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail and clipped it. “There’s no hope for it,” I mumbled as I reached down for the keys.
“It’s great. It looks healthy and sexy.” Smiling, he leaned down and kissed me sweetly. “Let’s go.”
I turned off the lights, we stepped into the hallway and I closed the front door behind us. His hand reached for mine, but I brushed it away. “You can’t touch me in the hallway. Cameras, remember?”
“My hotel room doesn’t have cameras. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all-day. I’ll have supper sent up.”
Supper. The evening meal. I grew up hearing the word, but I knew very few people in the Metroplex who ever said it these days. The fact that he did touched a tender place within me and reminded me that he and I had that common bond that West Texans seemed to have.
“Your hotel room?” I said stupidly.
“Baby, my cock’s aching to get inside you. I can’t wait to fuck you to another screaming orgasm. The easiest and quickest way for that to happen is to get to my hotel room ASAP.”
He said that as if he were discussing the weather. Was that talk supposed to be foreplay? If so, at the moment, it sounded good to me. Whatever was to happen next with the delicious Tack Tackett was a powerful magnet I didn’t have the will to resist.
“That almost sounds like a warning,” I said, deadpan.
He gave me a smile that made my weak knees weaker. “It’s a promise.”
“And I don’t recall screaming,” I added, ducking my chin as a small grin flitted across my lips.
“Figure of speech. It was music to my ears.” He chuckled and kissed my temple.
“Stop,” I said, tilting my head away from him. “Cameras, remember?”
We made it to the elevator without further touching each other and stood waiting for the car. “Is there a camera in that elevator?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. This is a high security building. That’s part of the appeal of living here.”
The car arrived and we stepped inside. “God, I hope there’s no camera. I must look like a wild woman.”
“I like the way you look.” He tapped his temple. “Up here, I’ve got an image of you running naked through a forest.”
I frowned and gave a little gasp.
“Stop worrying. That concierge is half-unconscious.” He grinned mischievously. “He’ll never know I just found your sweet spot and finger-fucked you to multiple orgasms.
Sweet spot? Finger-fucked? Good grief! The things he said.
And how many other women has he done that to?
I couldn’t help but wonder. He was a breathtakingly beautiful devil who knew way too much about sex.
“And if he figures it out, all he’ll do is envy me,” he added with a wink.
“Shut-up,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. Drake Lockhart might faint if he knew what his good friend and I had just done in his twelve-million-dollar condo, on a sofa that cost God-only-knew how much. My strength—and my cynical sense of the bizarre—was gradually returning.
Tack clasped my hand and interlocked our fingers.
“Cameras,” I said and tried to remove my hand from his, but he held it in a tight grip.
We rode to the bottom floor with no more conversation. Having my world rocked had left me with little to say.
As the elevator doors glided open, he let me take back my hand. I looked around for Paul, but didn’t see him anywhere. I adjusted my clothing again and tried to neaten my hair. Then I strode toward my table with bravado. He followed.
I gathered the tablecloth off the table and with unsteady hands, haphazardly folded it and struggled to stuff it back into the plastic bag it came in. The thing escaped me as if it had a plan of its own and ended in a heap on the table. I drew a shaky breath and dropped my forehead against my fingers.
He took the tablecloth and the plastic bag from me. In no time, with deft hands and fingers—and if anyone knew just how deft they were, I now did—he had the tablecloth neatly re-folded. He slid it into the plastic bag, zipped it and placed it on top of the box.
I looked up at him for a few beats. There was just something about a guy with a hard-on, who, minutes after what we had just done, could stuff a slick piece of cloth into a slick sack and make it turn out a neat square. Tack Tackett appeared to have self-possession and masculine dexterity in spades. I didn’t doubt he could build a house out of toothpicks with one hand and take a woman to an earth-shattering orgasm with the other. And continue to be flaming hot and gorgeous while doing it.
“Thank you,” I said. “I guess that does it.”
“Where does this stuff go?”
Drake’s brokers and I would need it tomorrow. The only place I could think to stash it was in the closet in the concierge’s office. But the last thing I wanted was a face-to-face meeting with the building’s keeper. “In the concierge’s office. But I don’t want—”
“I’ll take it.”
Was he a mind reader on top of everything else? He caught my chin between his thumb and finger, leaned down and smacked my lips. “You’re a worrywart. What am I gonna to do with you?”
My inner voice that I had ignored all through the episode on the sofa suddenly piped up. More of the same?
Carrying the box, he walked toward the door labeled CONCIERGE at the front of the lobby, giving me a view of his fine butt in his tight jeans. In my mind, I pictured it sans those jeans and shorts. At this point, how could I not?
Boxers or briefs? that ornery inner voice put in.
I closed my eyes, arched my brow and let a great breath escape, trying to reconcile how showing him around Skyline had morphed into going to his hotel and having real sex with him. I hadn’t officially said yes, but like a dumb country mouse, I shrugged into my blazer and waited for his return.
Chapter 6
Tack soon came back to the table, clasped my elbow and steered me to the elevator. I let myself be steered. A part of me had always loved the idea of being owned and protected by a strong man willing and able to take control of events and save me from disaster. A puzzling notion because another part of me wondered if I could live with so much machismo day-to-day. I had been my own boss for as far back as I could remember. Except for my grandmother and a few teachers over the years, no one had ever told me I should or shouldn’t do something.
“Did Paul question you?” I asked.
“He was on the phone. He had no idea what you were doing. My guess is he didn’t know you’re still here. He’s irresponsible. Drake needs to replace him.”
Uh-oh. The remarks Tack had made upstairs came back to me: …Does Drake know you come up here alone?...If you worked for me, I wouldn’t expect you to take chances like this…
With Tack being good friends with Drake, I had no doubt they would have that conversation. Inside, I winced, uncomfortable with my role in what might
happen to Paul. Live-and-let-live was my attitude about the people with whom I worked.
The elevator door opened into the underground parking garage and we stepped out. Only three vehicles occupied the huge empty space—my Ford SUV, a Honda sedan that I presumed belonged to Paul and a white sedan that was obviously a rental car.
While I’d had no trouble allowing Tack unrestrained access to my most private place upstairs, I suddenly had an aversion to getting into the car with him. “I—I’ll follow you in my car—” His head shook, but before he could argue, I added, “Then you won’t have to bring me back here.”
“Is somebody waiting for you somewhere?”
Only Miss Kitty. I had been feeding a feral cat most evenings. She would be hungry and waiting for me to come home. “Well, uh…”
He looked at me expectantly. He probably wouldn’t accept a hungry cat as a reason. I frowned. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “I’ll deliver you back here tomorrow morning.”
Oh, hell! I might be ready, even eager, for a roll in the hay with the delightful Tack Tackett, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for the intimacies of a sleepover. “I can’t stay the night. And I can’t leave my car in this parking garage. It might get towed.”
He hesitated, his dark eyes assessing me. No doubt he was trying to figure out if I would really follow him. “Look. What you said upstairs,” I told him. “We’re both grown people who know what we want. I’ve already agreed to…it isn’t necessary that I spend the night to—to…well, you know what I mean, okay?”
I couldn’t bring myself to bluntly say it’s just sex and as soon as we do it, I need to go home. He hesitated a few seconds. I doubted he had conceded the debate, but he said, “Which one of these rigs is yours?”
“The SUV.”
He placed a hand on my nape as if he feared I might escape and we walked to my SUV. At the driver’s side door, I dug in my purse for my keys. He took them from me, opened my door and held it as I scooted behind the wheel. He handed me the keys and closed the door, then leaned down, his hands braced on the roof. “I’ll follow you. I’m at the Hilton. You know where it is?”
