by Meg Maguire
Maybe it was the wine, and the fact that every time they shared a drink, they also wound up sharing one another’s mouths. Whatever the reason, Lindsey felt the atmosphere shift, a giant question mark hanging in the space between their bodies. Another floated in her head.
Can you handle it, if you hooked up again? If you woke up liking him more than ever, and he just went back to how he was, like it never happened?
She didn’t know. She only knew how her body would cast its vote, and those instincts couldn’t be trusted. Not around Rich, certainly not around Rich and alcohol.
He took another sip, gaze glued to hers above the rim of his glass. After swallowing he asked, “You want the tour?”
She managed a strategic joke, needing to take the temperature of the invitation. “Why do I suspect it’ll be comprised mainly of your bedroom?”
“Because you’ve got a dirty mind.”
She gave him a little glare and he offered a way-too-innocent shrug in return. “Take it and find out.”
She relented. Rich waved a crutch, and she obeyed, preceding him into the hall, carrying his glass for him. They had the same floor plan and he sneaked by, sweeping them past the closed door to the living room.
“Bathroom,” he said, flipping on the light. Surprisingly tidy for a man used to the daily ministrations of motel staff.
“Please don’t tell me your mom cleans up after you in addition to cooking.”
“My mom had her heart valve replaced last winter. What kind of a selfish jerk do you think I am?”
“Thank goodness.”
He grinned. “My sister does the cleaning.”
She sighed her annoyance and Rich shut off the light. “Not my fault I’ve been spoiled. Plus I bring home the lion’s share of the money around here, and usually carry it in bleeding. I’m not gonna apologize for being a caveman.”
“You better find yourself a real traditional girl to marry.”
“That would certainly please my mom.” His smile softened. “Though personally I’d rather find a snarky feminist to roll around in my sheets with.”
She blinked, knocked senseless for a breath at how obviously he meant her. “I see.”
He stood a bit straighter. “Unless you’re all done with me, after last week. Personally, I thought we had some unfinished business...but maybe that was just me.”
“I dunno.” She wanted to say more, demand some answers. If you’re not done with me, why’d you go so cool after that night? And if we take things even further, will you go straight-up cold come morning?
But those were demands you’d make of a boyfriend, or of a lover you thought you might be getting serious with. Rich was basically home on shore leave.
Though if she couldn’t voice those concerns, perhaps she shouldn’t waste time worrying about them. Not when the invitation in front of her now felt so simple. She upgraded her response to a shy “Maybe.”
Rich replied without a single word. He leaned close and caught her lips in a soft, slow kiss. Nearly innocent, if not for the shallow flare of his breath giving away his intentions. He kept his eyes glued to hers as he straightened, taking all his heat away.
Lindsey swallowed. The wine in the glasses she held trembled.
“You probably expect guys to be all suave, huh?” he asked. “You must coach them on that stuff, as a matchmaker.”
“Thankfully, no.”
“But that probably wasn’t real smooth, my just asking flat-out if you wanted to mess around.”
“I know what you do for a living, Rich. I never expected subtlety to be your strong suit.”
“Oh, good. I like a gal with low expectations.” And with that, he freed a hand and put it to the small of her back, nudging her toward the open door at the end of the hall—the bedroom directly below her own. Good Lord, she really had been on top of him this entire time.
She set their glasses on a bookcase and found the light switch.
“Oh, no.” She laughed, taking in the five full-length mirrors screwed flush along one wall, facing the bed. “Tacky much?”
He rolled his eyes, passing her on his crutches. “This has been my room since I was a kid. I used to shadowbox in here.” He turned, smirking, then leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Why you gotta make my innocent childhood sanctuary into some kinky sex den?”
“You have to admit, it looks bad.”
“To a pervert, maybe.” Another kiss, on her temple this time. “How many chicks you think I sneak in here? My mom and sister are downstairs.”
She looped her arms around his waist. “Like that would stop a man on a mission.”
“Maybe not. But admitting to a woman I still live with my mother usually does the job.”
He kissed her softly, again and again, coaxing her back a step at a time, crutches brushing her arms. A strange seduction, but somehow apt. She felt the mattress at the backs of her knees and sat. Rich set his crutches aside and joined her, tugging at her arm until she kicked off her shoes and lay down with him.
I’m on Rich Estrada’s bed. When they were simply hanging out, she forgot for long stretches that he was famous-ish. Wouldn’t those stupid Courtesan groupies just hate her if they could see? She shoved the petty, pleasing thought aside as he cupped her jaw and kissed her lips.
Far more exciting than messing around with a minor celebrity was messing around with Rich. On Rich’s bed. A queen-size bed, a soft black cotton comforter. Nothing flashy, just the place where this extraordinary man slept, in this room where he’d grown up. Surely the most mundane space in his world, yet Lindsey felt positively giddy. This big mattress after the confines of the weight bench and recliner...like a playground. And she wanted to climb Rich like a jungle gym, tumble all over with him, wrestling and laughing and being ridiculous.
She stroked his chest through his T-shirt, and his hand slid over her shoulder, down her arm, then found her waist. Misgiving flared. They’d gone much further together, but tonight felt different. Her previous recklessness had been replaced by something cautious. Plus this was not a flattering angle for her belly, considering how many tamales she’d stuffed it with. Rich slipped his hand beneath her shirt, multiplying the horror.
“I love how soft you are,” he murmured.
She bit back a sheepish smile, anxiety melting. “And here I was, lamenting however many pounds I gained at dinner.”
“You feel perfect to me.” He kissed her neck, and any last scraps of worry she felt fled with her deepening breaths.
His lips and tongue teased her throat, the contact growing hungrier as her body gave him approving cues with heavy exhalations, her palms admiring his shoulders and arms.
She combed his hair with her fingers. “You’re such a gym rat. I worried...I dunno. I just worried.”
“Got no time for scrawny girls. I like a woman I can roll around with, without being scared of breaking her. Sometimes I look at you, and I just want to squeeze you. You look so soft.”
She laughed. “I’ll take it.”
He pulled back, locking her eyes with his, black as pitch in the low light. “Lemme undress you.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He went about it slowly, regarding each inch of skin as though he’d never seen it before. And when he unclasped her bra, he did indeed reach new territory. His gaze roamed her, then his hands, warm and strong, and finally he lowered himself to his elbows, cupped her and brought his mouth to her nipple. Her flesh pulled tight, and a sigh fled her throat, fingers fisting his hair as she struggled to process the sensation, at first too much, but soon—perfection.
Swinging his leg over her, he straddled her thighs, kissing his way down her belly. As he dawdled at her hips, his fingertips dipped inside the band of her skirt, dragging back and forth, back and forth, the light contact making her cra
zy. He tugged the stretchy fabric down to her knees, lips taunting her thighs, then her mound as he took in her scent through the cotton of her panties. She let him strip her completely naked, insecurities burned away by the heat in his eyes.
She curled a finger. “Come here.”
He edged up the bed and helped her with his shirt, then the complicated process of getting his pants off over the cast.
She’d watched him fight, dressed practically just as he was now, only these snug black shorts didn’t conform to an athletic protector. The cotton did nothing to hide his excitement, and she found her palm sliding down his chest and ribs and hip, edging closer.
He took her hand, leading it where he wanted. She roused equally from his bossiness as from the feel of his cock, thick and stiff against her palm. As he kissed her, she found a rhythm, stroking him in time with the hungry sweeps of his tongue, his flaring breaths. Between them, he took her wrist and eased her hand inside his underwear.
“Oh.” His voice excited her as much as the hot drag of his bare skin against her palm.
For long minutes she pleasured him, loving his sounds and the restless fidgeting of his body, the heat and power of him wrapped in her fist. When he found the control, he returned the caresses, his overheated clumsiness far hotter than some masterful touch. Their kissing dissolved, coordination lost to need.
Against her lips he asked, “This is going to happen, isn’t it?”
“It better.”
With a grin, he ditched his shorts and moved his knees to the outsides of her hips, leaning over to open a dresser drawer. He set a condom beside them on the bed, then popped the cap on a bottle of lube. “Would you...?”
She took it and squeezed a small measure into her palm. The slick liquid was cool, Rich’s cock all the hotter in comparison. He sucked a harsh breath through his nose as she swept her fist down his length, moaned softly as she stroked it back up. She watched his abdomen tighten with every gasp and moan. Watched his expression, lips parted, lids heavy as his eyes recorded the motions of her hand. She spoiled him with slow, luxurious pulls, and soon enough he joined the action, pumping his hips, driving his cock in and out of her slippery grip. The sexiest thing she’d ever seen.
“It made me crazy,” he murmured. “That night in the gym, when you touched me. I wanted to push your hand inside my shorts so bad. And feel your bare skin on mine.”
“So did I.”
“But you didn’t.”
She swallowed. “You make me...shy.”
He smiled faintly. “Do I? I kinda hoped I made you wild.”
“You do that, too. You do a lot of confusing things to me.” She tightened her fist to give him a taste of the incapacitation he made her feel with the merest heated glance.
Rich shut his eyes and slowed his movements, seeming to reach a limit. She stilled her hand as he caught his breath.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She let him go.
He opened the condom and rolled it down his erection in a slow, sensual stroke. That, on top of the novelty of the act...Lindsey felt a kink working a new groove into her sexuality, imprinting her with a trigger that only watching a man sheath himself could spring.
She marveled at his weight as he knelt between her legs—the biggest man she’d ever been with, in every way. The sight of him angling his cock to her lips deepened her excitement. Her body was so primed for this, he slid inside with a single, slow push. The intrusion drew a moan from her chest, but the sound was pure pleasure. She grasped his shoulders. Rich was silent for the first handful of thrusts, gaze locked where her body joined his. Then his eyes met hers and a low groan warmed the air between them.
His voice was tight. “Christ, you feel good.”
“So do you.”
He shut his eyes, seeming to savor the experience as he eased inside with slow, measured motions.
A million words flashed through her brain, aching to be said. You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this. About us, and this exact moment. And the reality of it puts all my best fantasies to shame.
But it was Rich who next spoke.
“I like it pretty fast, usually.”
Not quite the poetry she’d been composing herself, but it made her smile nonetheless. “That’s fine by me.”
When he found his pace, she joined the motions, spurring him with her hips, welcoming every push, sharpening the angle each time he withdrew. His arm muscles locked, actions growing rough. So perfect. So exactly how this man ought to be in bed. Just as he’d been in her imagination.
His hips flexed under her palms, power undulating with every thrust. Fascinated, she turned to the side to watch in the mirrors. It took her breath away. If watching his body work as he fought turned her on, this might just kill her. The single hottest sight she’d ever witnessed.
Rich caught her. “Changed your tune?” he teased, words stilted.
She met his gaze, smiling. “Maybe.”
“What else you wanna see?”
Unsure what he meant, she didn’t answer. As though punishing her for her hesitance, he pulled out, scooting back on his knees. “Turn over.”
At once nervous and intrigued, she did. Rich adjusted her so they were in three-quarters profile to the mirror. He looked even more intimidating this way, torso erect, face cast down at her body. He stroked her waist and hips, then guided himself between her thighs, sliding deep with a long moan.
She watched him, and he watched her in return, until finally their eyes met in the reflection. Heat flashed between them. This position that had always equaled blind surrender to Lindsey became something more. Something equitable and shared, no matter that he was above her, behind her, in control of the motions. Able to watch, she suddenly knew this was for her, every bit as much as it was for him.
And Jesus, he looked amazing.
His hands floated above her skin, the barest whisper. Then he held her, fingers digging gently. Her softer areas jiggled from the impact, but she could tell this sensation that normally embarrassed her was exciting Rich. She wasted time worrying about these things, when in reality her so-called imperfections turned him on.
“You’re so sexy,” he muttered, gaze jumping between her body and its reflection.
She was ready to respond, but the words fled as he wrapped his arm around her waist, fingertips grazing her clit.
“Oh.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Just. That.” That, and this view, his voice, those eyes, the weight of his body bumping hers and the stiff length of him, driving deep.
He teased her with one hand, kneading her hip and backside with the other. Every rough thrust, every hard inch, lit her up. As her pleasure grew, she sensed his doing the same. In no time they seemed to be rushing, racing toward the prize. The scene blurred in front of her eyes, all her awareness caught on what he made her feel—served, used, celebrated, desired. Everything, all from a single man. Overcome, she dropped her head and got lost in the impact and friction.
Excitement strained his voice. “You feel so good.” His hips sped up, all rhythm lost.
“Rich.”
His fingers were shaking, but any pleasure lost was replaced by the thrill of feeling him come apart behind her. The pleasure grew from heat to a taut, physical demand, the need to release bordering on pain.
“Rich. Please.”
His fingertips moved with practiced ease and her excitement coiled tighter, tighter, until the sensations burst and flooded, the orgasm leaving her shaking and panting beneath him. His hips hammered her hard for a flurry of thrusts, then he, too, gave in.
She watched his face in the mirrors, all the arrogance gone from those handsome features, desperation and relief uncovered. His eyes shut, he drove deep, the length of his body tensing with a s
eries of grunts before finally going still.
His eyes opened, finding hers. Damp hands slid up her ribs and back, then down again before he secured the condom and eased out.
As he disposed of it, Lindsey collapsed in a happy heap across the comforter. He joined her, pulling her sweaty body close and sighing into her hair, pure male happiness. She sighed right back.
“Damn,” he murmured. “Didn’t even have to show you my belt.”
She reached back to whap his ribs and Rich quit his teasing, feeling familiar and fond as he kissed her jaw.
For ten minutes or more they lay in lazy, companionable silence as their breathing slowed. Lindsey shifted around in his arms to stroke his chest.
“When we were sitting on the fire escape,” she murmured, “you looked like some profound thought had struck you.”
“Oh?”
“When you were telling me about fighting, and how it makes you feel. Respected, I think you said.”
Rich rolled onto his back and swallowed, gaze trained on the ceiling. His fingertips wandered across her belly, but his brain was elsewhere.
“You’re doing it now. Your head is someplace else. What is it?”
He met her eyes, expression serious, even vulnerable. “I’d never thought about it like that until I said it. About how it’s the only time I feel worthy or whatever. And yeah, respected. And how that’s what... That was what wrecked my father.”
“How so?”
“He was a somebody when he was my age, in Colombia. He taught engineering in Medellín, back in the Escobar days. But he came here, and his experience and skills didn’t count for shit. He traded all that so he and my mom, and eventually us kids, could have a safer life. But he never got over that—losing his identity. I know once upon a time he was a great man. But I never got to meet that guy. All I ever got was the ghost haunting our second-floor den.”
She sensed there was more and held her tongue.
“I almost get it now. Coming home how I did, feeling stripped of what I can do, and who that makes me. Even with people around you who know your potential and see you the way you were, the way you want to be seen... It’s not enough, if you don’t feel it about yourself.”
