Thrill Me

by Isabel Sharpe

  May sank down on the bed, hugging her arms around her. Oh, what she wouldn’t give right now to be back in Oshkosh in her cozy, safe apartment, with Dan stretched out beside her, watching TV or begging for a backrub, Pleeeeeeez, May? I’ll give you one later…. Only somehow he never got around to it more than a couple of times a year.

  She pictured his tanned skin, his stocky body, the curves of his strong muscles softened by the few pounds he’d put on in the last few years. She knew every inch of that body.

  The longing increased and she lunged for the phone, dialed the number she knew so well and waited, breathless. This would be a sign. If he was home, if he sounded at all like he missed her, she’d cancel Masturbation 101 and go back to Oshkosh tomorrow. But if he—

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice. May sat up ramrod straight. “Is this 555-5237?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  In the background she could hear Dan’s voice asking the same question.

  “This is May. I’m calling from New York. Can I speak to Dan?”

  The line made a fumbling muted sound, as if the woman had put her hand over the mouthpiece, though only partially because May could still hear. “It’s May. She’s in New York. Why is she calling you?”

  “What’s she doing in New York?” Dan’s voice sounded louder, incredulous. “Give me the phone.”

  “Dan’s not available right now.” The woman’s tone turned sickly sweet.

  “I can hear him.” May squeezed a handful of the turned-down bedspread without mercy. “Who is this?”

  “This is his girlfriend, Charlene.”

  Shouting from Dan, answering screeches from Charlene.

  May’s breath rushed into her lungs and refused to come back out. Girlfriend? Already? It took Dan six months of dating May before he’d allow the word.

  More fumbling on the line—a tussle for the phone? Then a squeal of outrage from Charlene, whoever the hell she was, which meant Dan must have gained possession. Thank goodness.

  “May, where are you?”

  His familiar voice brought tears to—

  Wait a second. Tears? What the hell for? She blinked ferociously. “I’m in New York.”

  “Where in New York? What are you doing there?” He sounded agitated and off balance, which suited her just fine.

  “At Hush Hotel. Look it up. It’s not the kind of place you stay alone.” May slammed down the receiver and jumped to her feet. Strode to the desk, whirled around and strode back to the bed.

  Dan had a girlfriend. They didn’t even know anyone named…

  Wait a second. Charlene…

  May fisted her hands. The woman with dark hair and megahooters crammed into a tight T-shirt who’d been all over him when they went to the Dobsons’ for dinner in February. Soon after, the broken dates, days in a row without seeing him, promised phone calls that never materialized, the sullen behavior and dissatisfaction. May thought he was just having a midtwenties crisis.

  More like a perky D-cup crisis.

  The creep. The double, triple, quadruple, stinking, economy-size creep.

  She wanted a sign? She just got one whole hell of one.

  No more looking back. She’d freshen up, change, check out the marital aids in the drawer next to the bed and see which ones would do for the sex show of a lifetime.

  Then she’d go to Beck’s room, rip off her clothes and pleasure the freaking hell out of herself.

  BECK CLOSED the door of his room and leaned back against it. How was he going to handle this? For all her willingness to help him, May was clearly panicked even by the thought of what she insisted she wanted to do.

  He pushed himself away from the door and took a few steps forward, put his hands on his hips and frowned at the extra long queen-size bed. Why put herself through this if it wasn’t something she was comfortable with? She didn’t strike him as the type who’d frolic through hell to please a man. She seemed much stronger than that. But why would a woman willing to shack up for a week in an erotic boutique hotel with a married man she’d just met balk at putting it out there for a different stranger, one she was clearly attracted to?

  Faced with her crisis of confidence, or whatever it was, he probably should have withdrawn the offer. But, perversely, her insistence in the face of obvious discomfort fascinated him. He wanted to see how she conducted herself, see what other peeks into May Ellison’s psyche he might be allowed.

  And yes, he also wanted to see if Alex was right about what would improve the scene, or whether Beck knew his characters and books and readers better than she did. Which he’d bet turned out to be the case. He strode to the room phone and dialed the concierge.

  “Good evening, Mr. Desmond, how can I help you?”

  “I’d like a dozen candles and a basket of rose petals sent up as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  He hung up the phone, smiling. Only at HUSH. There was probably nothing they hadn’t been asked to produce at a moment’s notice.

  Now, to set the stage. Adrenaline pumping, he moved the exquisite chocolate mint from his pillow to his nightstand and pulled up the neatly turned-down gold patterned bedspread. Changed the classical station the evening maid left his radio tuned to, so soft jazz filled the room. He hoped May liked jazz; he hadn’t asked her.

  Add it to the growing list of things he wondered about her. It was hard to get her talking about herself. She tended to answer questions with bare facts or evasions or turned the conversation back at him.

  Obviously she wanted to stay as anonymous and private as possible, which was her right. But he wanted to know more. Get to understand her contrasts, figure out her moods.

  He rolled his eyes. He should be obsessing more about the book and less about May. Not like him to let anything come between his concentration and a writing issue.

  A gentle knock on the room door shot nerves through him, and he chuckled incredulously. When was the last time he’d been nervous about meeting a woman? And this wasn’t even a date, it was…research.

  He threw himself a look of disgust in the bathroom mirror. Right. And seeing her naked touching herself was going to be a completely clinical experience.

  Changing the look of disgust into a warm smile to welcome her, he opened the door…to a member of the concierge staff bearing candles, a box of HUSH matches and a small basket of pink rose petals. In his book they were red, but pink would do. In fact, it would complement May’s skin tone even better.

  The attractive young woman smiled, accepted his tip and his thanks, and closed the door behind her. Beck rushed to distribute the candles around the room, lit them and turned off the electric lights, glad the props had arrived so he could set the scene before May got here, to decrease any anxiety she might still be feeling. The petals he’d save to scatter over her no-doubt fabulous body during the main event.

  Perfect. He smiled in satisfaction. The candles glowed and made the rich wood of the bed gleam, threw mysterious flickering shadows on the walls. Alex thought the masturbation scene in his book was straight out of a porn movie? He was about to prove how wrong she was. Some people were uptight, sexually repressed; for all Alex’s brassiness, maybe she was conservative in the bedroom.

  Another knock on the door, this one not so gentle. He fought down the rush of excitement and opened the door calmly, determined to make sure May didn’t regret her offer to help.

  “Hello, May.”

  She looked beautiful—when did she not?—and walked past him into the room, carrying a small bag. She’d changed from the sexy black dress to an equally sexy tight black off-shoulder top that left her firm midriff bare, and a fire-engine red clingy short skirt that hugged her round hips adoringly.

  Research. Right.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “I haven’t yet, but you’re welcome. The candles are beautiful.” She turned to him, and whatever uncertainty had been plaguing her before was history now. She was on fire, cheeks flush
ed, eyes bright and sure. A female work of art. He was suddenly unsure which of them would need putting at ease.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Would you feel more comfortable if we chatted first, or—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. Tipped her chin and gave him one of those killer sultry stares. “Let’s just do it, Beck.”

  Her soft words had the opposite effect on his penis. He needed to focus on the scene, focus on his book. If he nearly lost it when she spoke to him, he was lunch meat when she took off her clothes. Hard salami to be precise.

  “Good.” He gestured to a chair a few feet from the bed. “Okay if I sit here?”

  “No problem.”

  He sat and took out his laptop. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  She stood still for a moment, facing him, staring at the floor. Then put her hands to the hem of her shirt, and lifted it slowly, steadily, exposing her full round breasts, captured—barely it seemed—in a few inches of black lace, nipples clearly visible under the sheer fabric.

  Oh my—

  Beck’s hands froze on the keyboard, along with his thoughts. The music shifted to a more upbeat tune and May swayed her hips dreamily along with the beat, ran her hands up the sides of her body, cupped her breasts and lifted them, a swelling, generous offering.

  He managed to type a few phrases, fingers stumbling over the keys. This was perfect. This was exactly the kind of action he had in his scene already. Oh, he of little faith. Take that, all ye who doubted him.

  May put her hands on the waistband of her skirt and lowered it, inch by tantalizing inch off her beautiful hips, exposing tiny black lace bikini underwear. She threw the skirt dramatically to one side, where it landed in a scarlet heap on the edge of the black desk.

  Perfect, perfect, perfect. He couldn’t wait to tell Alex. He wouldn’t have to change a single word.

  She fell back on the bed, undulating her body in an imitation of the sex act.

  “Wait.” He lunged out of his seat, grabbed the basket of petals and sprinkled them on her already rosy body, head to toe. Yes. Yes. They decorated and framed her just as he’d imagined the red ones decorating and framing Tamara’s slightly darker skin. He took his seat again, practically rubbing his hands in delight.

  May picked up a petal, dragged it across her lip, across her breasts, grabbed a handful and sprinkled them deliberately over her sex, so they lay like a pink flower bed between her legs.

  Wow. He wanted to call Alex right now and told-you-so her into submission. Moreover, he was completely in control of himself now, aroused, sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. This was such a damn good idea.

  With sensual, tantalizing slowness, May reached into the bag she’d brought with her and pulled out a large pink dildo.

  He could only stare. Had she read the scene?

  She drew the phallus across her face, mouth open as if she was longing for a suck. Her right hand made its way into her bra, she pulled out one breast, then the other, pinched the nipples roughly to stand upright, her eyes wide-open and staring.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Her hand slipped down over her panties, drew them aside so he could see the lips and crevices of her sex, soft and sweetly clean of hair. Oh, yes.

  She pushed the dildo down, the unlubricated silicone catching and stuttering across her stomach. The tip teased her opening; she arched her back, moaned loudly, pushed again, harder, forcing the huge molded penis inside her.

  Her moans didn’t sound quite right. Not quite sincere. Her brow furrowed at the same time his did. She pulled the inch of rubber out and tried again. This time she grimaced openly.

  Beck stopped typing.

  She tried again, eyes screwed shut. Air rushed in through her clenched teeth. Pain.

  God he was a fool.

  He placed his laptop on the table, shot up out of the chair and took the toy from her clenched fingers. “Stop.”

  May opened startled eyes, then yanked her underpants back into place and sat up abruptly, shoving her breasts back into her bra. “That’s all you needed?”

  He sat on the bed. What an ass, what a total idiot he’d been. She wasn’t masturbating. She was putting on a show, what she thought he wanted to see. She didn’t even know to lubricate the dildo.

  “Is that how you do it when you’re alone?” He asked as gently as he knew how, not wanting to humiliate her.

  She bit her lip, worldly sophisticate aura gone as if it was paint washed away in a turpentine storm. “No.”

  Tears glinted in the eyes she lowered to the bed. Whatever kind of ass he felt like before, he felt like even more of one now, and whatever tenderness he’d experienced tripled.

  He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead, watched it fall back down. May flinched away. No sympathy wanted; he could understand her pride. “That was very sexy.”

  She managed a brief smile.

  “You’d drive any guy out of his mind. I’m serious.”

  A brief nod; she was clearly not buying it.

  “It was a lot like the scene I have already in my book. The striptease, the candles, rose petals and toys. I want to see it real, May.”

  “Real?”

  His turn to nod. “I want to see the real you.”

  The words left his mouth and he realized with a small shock they were true of more than her masturbation technique. She lifted her head, gaze hopeful, as if he’d said something profound and freeing.

  He touched her cheek, letting his hand linger as long as he dared. “Think about it.”

  May sucked in a breath, stared down at her meshed fingers. “I’ll do it.”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “I do.”

  He wasn’t convinced. “Maybe another night would be—”

  “Please.” She spoke quietly, lifting those gorgeous blue eyes to his. “I want to do this.”

  He gazed at her, at the combination of courage and vulnerability, and an ache started in the center of his chest. He had a crazy impulse to lean down and kiss her until she smiled in genuine happiness, to curl her up in his arms and sleep with her until morning.

  What the hell was that?

  “You’re sure you want to?”

  “I’m sure.” She pursed her lips and sent him an apologetic glance. “It’s not very exciting.”

  He grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Okay.” She grinned back, then laughed nervously. “It’s a deal.”

  He took her hand, played lightly with her fingers. “One thing I want to ask first. Why did you do it for me the other way?”

  “I…thought it’s what you expected.”

  “It was what I expected.” He squeezed her fingers and let go. “But apparently it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  She shrugged, and for a second he saw again the battle in her eyes and wanted to step in and save her from it. But before he’d opened his mouth to give her another out, she blinked and straightened her shoulders. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  He gave in, went back to his chair, lifted his computer back onto his lap and waited, not at all sure what to expect, caught between diminishing concern for his book and increasing concern for May.

  She lay back, stared at the ceiling, a long breath in, a long breath out. He could see her body relaxing, starting with her feet, which flopped to the side, then the muscles in her legs, releasing tension, thighs, abdomen, shoulders, chin, until her forehead smoothed and her eyes lazily closed.

  He hardly dared breathe, not even sure why his anticipation was so much stronger this time, why his instinct was on high-alert for something unexpected.

  Slowly, she arched her back and moved her hands under, unhooked her bra and slid the straps off each shoulder, and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Then lay for another few seconds, not moving at all. Her breasts were beautiful, small nipples standing proudly, her skin inviting shades of cream and gold and rose.r />
  He swallowed, his throat convulsing.

  The music changed to a slow, dreamy number, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” alto sax evoking a tobacco-throated blues singer.

  May lifted her hips, slid her lace panties down the gorgeous smooth length of her legs and tossed them aside. Lay back again, motionless, her legs casually apart, a tiny strip of curling hair at the juncture, everything else smooth and pink.

  His cock started getting hard. She was beyond beautiful—ethereal—breathing peacefully, naked on his bed about to bring herself to orgasm…he’d never live through it.

  She lifted one hand, drew it languidly up her stomach, trailing fingers passing lightly over each breast, then continuing the circle back. Up and down. Up and down, closer to her sex with each pass. Her toes pointed, then relaxed, pointed and held.

  Again her hand slid down, this time stopped just short of the soft-looking neatly shaped tangle of hair. He mentally urged her on, exhaling sharply in frustration when her hand caressed its way back up to her breasts and fondled them gently. A tiny smile touched her mouth; her palm glided back down, hesitated under her navel, then finally—oh, yes—she slipped her fingers between her legs.

  He shifted back in the plush black chair, fully erect. May spread her legs wide, bent at the knees. Beck put his laptop aside. Screw note-taking. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d forget one second of this.

  She stroked a long, slender finger down the center of her sex, then up again, taking her time, teasing herself, making him crazy until he could barely sit still. And could barely suppress a moan when the length of that finger disappeared inside her, in, out, in, out, then reappeared fully to spread glistening wetness around the surrounding deep pink lips, and up onto her clitoris.

  Torture.

  He attempted to shift his erection to a more comfortable position from where it strained painfully against the seam of his pants. No luck. It wanted a hell of a lot more than comfort.

  The finger on her clit started a light, steady circle; her nostrils flared, her lips parted, her breath came higher and faster.

  Beck moved again on the seat, bracing himself for what he was about to see, barely under control. This was it.