But when she kisses me like this, all lips, teeth, and a newly discovered confidence that’s downright addictive, I don’t want to take it slow. I want to slam my lips to hers, tangle my hands in her silky hair, yank her head back, and leave a trail of rough kisses up the gorgeous column of her throat.
I try to slow my pace, but she’s leading now, kissing me hard and relentlessly, almost as if she’s saying over and over I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready.
She might be, but I need a breather for a second.
I press my hands on her shoulders and separate us. “CJ, you’re driving me crazy.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Isn’t that the goal?”
“Butterfly, you’ve already reached the goal. We need to slow down till we get to my place. I don’t want to hurt you, and right now, you’re kind of making me want to pull you under me and take you right here in the car.”
Mischief sparkles in her eyes. “I thought you were the one who said you won’t break?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yes, I remember. But it’s you I’m concerned about.”
“News flash,” she whispers. “I’m not going to break, either. And I really like wild, crazy kissing.”
I close my eyes and groan, my bones humming with pleasure. I glance out the window, grateful for the familiar view of the buildings on my street. The car pulls to the curb, and I thank Gary.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors close, and I press CJ to the wall, returning the favor from the car, kissing her neck, sucking on her jaw, and devouring her lips. This time, she’s the one who groans first.
“Payback,” I tease.
“I want more payback,” she says in a dirty whisper.
I oblige with more ravenous kisses.
She moans my name, and it sounds needy and desperate, and that’s exactly how I want her tonight. Because if she feels that way, then there’s a damn good chance I can make her first time amazing for her.
That’s how I want it to be.
When the doors open, and we walk down the hall, the words handle with care flash again through my mind. But there are new ones, too. Listen to her.
She’s been telling me something.
She doesn’t want to be treated like a box filled with china. She wants me to treat her like the woman she is. And I’m determined to give her exactly what she wants, everything she needs.
Once inside my home, she turns to me and whispers, “Bedroom. Now. Please.”
A shudder racks my body, a bolt of lust that nearly overwhelms me with its power. Her power. This woman is so goddamn sexy. She might be innocent in body, but in her mind, she knows exactly what she wants.
When we reach my bedroom, I flick the light on low. “I need to see you.” My eyes roam over her from head to toe, loving the way she looks in that dress. She kicks off her shoes as I let my fingertips play at the hem. A soft smile is my reward as she lifts her arms, and I pull the sweater fabric over her head.
I groan, probably louder than the last time I came, because of what I see underneath. She kills me with her sexiness, slays me with her pure sensuality.
Tonight, she’s wearing white. A lace demi-cup bra and lace panties. They are so simple and so pretty, and so intoxicatingly her. The color is a secret message, just for me. She’s giving me this gift of herself, and she’s wrapped her gorgeous body up so perfectly.
“See? I didn’t need to send you anything. You knew exactly what you needed to wear to feel beautiful.” I run the back of my fingers over her cheek. “Do you feel beautiful? Because you are. So beautiful.” I press my body against hers, letting her feel the evidence of how much I want her.
“Yes. I do.” A ragged breath falls from her lips as my hands move to her breasts. I cover them, kneading them, squeezing them, then my hands band around her back, and I unhook her bra. Before the soft material can fall to the floor, I grab it and toss it on the bureau.
I bury my face between her perfect tits, licking the tops, sucking on her nipples. I walk her backward to the bed and lay her down on it. She grabs a pillow, sets it under her head, and looks at me with wide eyes.
“There’s only one rule tonight,” I say as I unknot my tie and take it off. “You tell me if something doesn’t feel right. Be open with me. I need to know how you feel so I can make it good for you. Can you do that?”
She nods.
I bite my lip as I slide her white panties down. “Wait. There’s one more rule.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I need to eat you first.”
A naughty smile is my reward. “If you insist.”
After I tug her panties off, I bury my face between her legs, licking and kissing her glorious wetness, and driving her wild in seconds. Soon enough, she’s rocking into my mouth, grabbing my hair, pulling me even closer. Her moans intensify, carrying across the night. Soon, she’s nearing the edge, and I kiss her hungrily, greedily, until I can taste her flooding my tongue, covering my lips.
“So good,” she moans as she drifts back to earth. “So, so good.”
“My pleasure. Every second.” I stand, unbuttoning my shirt as she blinks open her eyes. They are glassy and sex-hazy, and her hair is a wild mess.
“I think you’re trying to get me drunk on orgasms,” she breathes.
“I see absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t come as often as possible.” Tossing my shirt to the floor, I move my hands to my jeans. She shakes her head and sits up, reaching for the button. “Let me.”
I drop my hands to my sides and stare as she unzips my jeans, pushing them down my thighs, allowing my dick to make its appearance. A soft, sexy sigh falls from her gorgeous mouth.
As I take off the rest of my clothes, she gazes up at me, excitement and anticipation clear in her beautiful brown eyes. She’s so eager, so curious, and it’s such a gift to have her trust, to be the first person to experience her like this.
My heart beats faster, from pleasure but also from something more, something entirely new that I’m only beginning to understand. But I can’t sort it out now. All I can think about is how much I need to be closer to her, joined with her, feeling her tight around me for the first time.
I grab a condom from my wallet.
As I open it, she grabs my wrist and says, “There’s something I need to say.”
I wince inside, but steel myself for whatever comes next. I’m dying to be inside her, but I don’t want her to do anything she isn’t ready for. And as I look in her eyes, it hits me—I care so much more for her than I realized before our classes started. And this has become so much more than lessons in seduction.
If she’s not ready, I’ll wait, blue balls be damned. If she needs another month, hell, a year, I’ll be here. I’ll wait until she’s ready.
I just want it to be me that she’s ready for.
“What is it, Butterfly? Tell me anything,” I say gently.
Her gaze locks with mine. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
And if I wasn’t already lost for her, that pretty much seals the deal.
Chapter Nineteen
CJ
Just because I’ve carried my V card for a quarter of a century doesn’t mean I’ve kept a pure mind, too.
Quite the contrary.
My brain has run wild. My imagination has frolicked in Naughtyville thousands of times, and though the details—the catalyst and the location—varied, one aspect was nearly always the same.
Graham.
Him over me, him inside me, him being my first.
That’s what I’ve wanted most of all.
A rush of anticipation fills my body as he climbs over me, but then anxiety rises up, pulling at me, tightening in my belly. A thousand thoughts race through my mind, and my heart jams in my throat, but as I look up at his handsome face, I know it isn’t having sex for the first time that’s making me nervous.
What scares me is that I’m already failing at the lesson I tried to teach myself this afternoon.
&nb
sp; My heart isn’t in another room.
I’m here, all in, heart, body, and mind.
It’s wildly exciting and completely terrifying. But how can I even consider turning back when this is everything I’ve dreamt of and so much more?
I reach my arms around his neck, pull him even closer, and press my lips to his, kissing away my fears. “I’m so ready,” I whisper.
“I like the so.” He positions himself, rubs the head of his erection against me, and I gasp. A pulse beats between my legs, where I’m wet, ridiculously wet.
Relax. I spread my legs wider, letting my knees fall open, inviting him in.
He pushes the tip inside. “Okay?” he pants.
A warm, tingly feeling spreads through me. “More than okay.”
I draw a sharp breath as he sinks deeper inside. Deeper, deeper, maybe halfway in, and holy hell.
He’s stretching me, and for a moment I feel as if I’m being ripped apart. I grit my teeth, my muscles tensing against the sting.
“Butterfly.” His voice is laced with worry
I try to will away the pain, but damn, it hurts. “I’m fine,” I mutter.
“You’re not fine. Talk to me.”
I remember I promised I would be honest. I loop my arms tighter around his neck, needing to hold him close as I confess, “It hurts, Graham. But I don’t want to stop. So please don’t.”
He sighs heavily, but doesn’t move. I look up at him, seeing concern, care, and so much more in his eyes. I see him here with me, in every way, and suddenly I can breathe. And that changes the game.
As I pull in another breath, I start to relax.
“Perfect,” he whispers. “Just breathe, baby. Take all the time you need.”
Another breath, and the stinging sensation fades a little more.
Slowly, the hurt subsides, giving way to another rush of warmth and desire, the need to get even closer to this man who is so sweetly patient with me.
I wrap my legs around him. “Now. I want you inside me. All the way.”
There’s something about saying those words that empowers me. That emboldens my body to accept everything he has to give. This is my choice, my man, my moment. I give myself over to all the possibilities, all the hunger, all the emotion filling my chest to overflowing.
I swallow hard and grab his ass, pulling him deeper.
He slides another inch, and like the soft, final notes of a song, the pain ends.
Another song begins, a primal melody that is beautiful, natural, and oh-so right.
I still feel stretched, full, but I also feel something wholly new. A spark spreads up my chest to my arms, down to my fingers. This sensation is warm, it’s floaty—it’s what I’ve always wanted.
A smile spreads across my face.
Graham laughs lightly. “Looks like everything is okay?”
“So much better than okay,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling. “It's like champagne. You don’t know what to make of it the first time you taste it, and then you just want more.”
“You want more, baby?”
“Oh yes . . .” I start to move with him, my hips rocking up, sensations building and rising inside me.
His hips swivel, and he goes deeper. But never too hard or too rough. Always with just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of him in me.
God, a man is inside me—Graham is inside me—and it is every bit as incredible as I ever imagined.
My body grows hotter, my skin damper. My heart jackhammers as he moves and I move with him, and somehow, we find the most wonderful rhythm.
Together.
Gently but firmly, he guides my leg higher on his hip, opening me more as he thrusts into me. I’m trembling all over as a full, heavy feeling ripples through me. I’m being wickedly, deliciously turned inside out.
And then, he slides his hand down between us, touching me where I want him most, and that sends me soaring. He rubs and strokes, and soon I’m mindless with pleasure. I’m lost in all these new sensations as he fills me and zeroes in on where everything feels like bliss.
Soon, that’s all I feel. I’ve passed the brink. I’m reaching something inevitable. Something that was always meant to happen this way, just exactly this way.
There’s a flash of ecstatic oblivion as desire curls inward, tightens, and then I let go, I fall, and the waves of pleasure overcome me. I reach the edge as he fills me, as he makes love to me, as he takes me over the cliff.
A few seconds later, he’s there with me, too. Saying my name. Saying how good it feels. Telling me he’s coming.
I’m drowning in the sweetest heat as I watch him thrust one last time then come apart, shuddering, his jaw clenched as he moans low in his throat. And this is another wondrous first for me, watching a man climax inside me, and I like this part just as much as I like my own orgasms.
Probably because I’m falling in love with him.
That’s the part that’s truly going to hurt.
Because in a few more nights, this will end.
Chapter Twenty
Graham
All day Friday at the office, all I can think about is CJ. Making love to CJ. How sweet and sexy and incredible she was last night, and how much I need to have her naked in my arms again, calling my name while she comes on my cock, ASA-fucking-P.
We’re more than halfway through our seven days, and there’s still so much ground left to cover, so many lessons left to learn . . .
The afternoon is a full course in patience, as CJ and I exchange mutually frustrated text messages about how intolerable it is to have to remain clothed and in separate offices in different parts of the city all day.
The evening is a master class in anticipation as I treat CJ to happy hour martinis and my fingers skimming up the inside of her thigh beneath the tablecloth at our corner booth.
Friday night begins with a lesson in how much fun we can have in the shower together, with nothing but body wash and a fresh sponge. It ends with a four-hour tutorial in going nearly all night long.
Never has exhaustion been so sweet.
Saturday morning dawns with a warm yellow glow through the curtains that has me up and at ’em, even though I closed my eyes less than five hours ago.
But I’m full of energy. I finally have an entire day stretching out in front of me with nothing but CJ in it. No work. No meetings. Just full-immersion sex education for the next forty-eight hours. I kiss her softly on her forehead, slide quietly out of bed, and head down the hall to the kitchen with a spring in my step.
I whistle as I start the coffeepot and dig deep in the drawers for the pans I rarely use. Sure, there’s a voice in my head warning that there’s no reason to be so excited—this sex fling is going to be over tomorrow night and there will be no more lessons, no more CJ in my bed, no more waking up with her warm and delicious in my arms—but I ignore that voice.
No buzz-killing on the menu today. Just buzz-encouraging.
Which means pancakes and extra-dark French roast coffee.
Now if I can just find that pan . . .
The one you use to, um, cook things . . .
CJ
I wake up feeling like I barely survived one of the hard-core boot-camp weekends Chloe drags me to every June before bathing suit season.
I’m sore in every single one of my muscles, even ones I wasn’t aware existed until they started aching. My brain is a sluggish lump sitting heavily in my skull, refusing to think thoughts more eloquent than “Coffee now. Coffee good,” and I’m so exhausted I’m pretty sure I’m going to need assistance to drag my butt out of this heavenly soft bed.
Oh yeah . . . and I’m also completely giddy.
Graham is mine for the weekend, and I refuse to let anything get in the way of my last two days with him. Two days of Graham making me feel earth-shattering, mind-blowing, perspective-revolutionizing things that have made it abundantly clear what the fuss is all about. The fuss is about orgasms and more orgasms and yet even more orgasms deli
vered by a sexy-as-hell man who tells me that I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
I sigh as my mouth begins to water. I’m not sure if it’s memories of Graham, or the scent of vanilla and sugar in the air, but I’m suddenly starving.
After a full-body stretch, I swing my feet to the floor and pull on one of Graham’s T-shirts and a pair of panties.
I find him in the kitchen, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a chef’s apron. Only Graham could mix adorable and sexy so well.
A skillet sizzles on the stove. Oblivious to my presence, he hustles about the kitchen, pulling items from the refrigerator, setting them on the counter, and rushing back to the stove where the sweet smell is coming from.
Pancakes?
I sneak quietly up behind him to plant my elbows on the center island. “Well, well. I didn’t know you cooked.”
Graham spins with a slightly harried smile. “Good morning, Butterfly. How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead,” I confess. “But in a good way.”
He grins. “Me, too. And yes, I like to use the kitchen once a year or so, so it doesn’t feel neglected.”
“Biannually, eh?” I shake my head as I tease, “I’m thinking that doesn’t bode well for the quality of these pancakes.”
He places the bowl of batter on the counter and snatches his spatula from near the sink, where several other bowls of lumpy batter have apparently already been discarded. “You wound me, Murphy. Here I am, slaving over a hot stove to feed your sexy body pancakes and—”
“Graham, I think—”
“And you’re insulting my cooking prowess before you’ve even—”
“Graham,” I say more urgently as smoke begins to rise behind him.
“—tasted the fruits of my labor or—”
“Graham, the stove,” I break in, jabbing a finger at the skillet, where tendrils of brown smoke are quickly turning black. “Your pancakes are burning.”
Graham whirls around. “Shit.” He snatches the entire pan—charred mess and all—from the stove and practically tosses it into the sink before turning on the water, sending the smell of soggy, burning batter whooshing through the kitchen.
The V Card Page 13
