That Man 3

by Nelle L’Amour

  My round-as-marbles eyes drank in my surroundings. “What is this place?”

  “It’s Jaime Zander’s beach house. He and Gloria are away with the twins and offered to let me use it.”

  “Oh my God, it’s fabulous,” I exclaimed as Blake took hold of my hand and led me to the entrance. I remembered Jaime mentioning he and his family were heading to Hawaii over the holidays when we’d had lunch together.

  Inside, the house was even more fabulous than I could imagine. A contemporary glass palace with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering glorious views of the Pacific. The furnishings were modern, sparse, and oversized, mostly in shades of white. The all-white interior showed off the colorful abstract paintings that lined the walls, all signed PAZ—an acronym for Payton Anthony Zander, Jaime’s late father. The artist who had painted The Kiss, the masterpiece Blake had given me. Framed photos were scattered everywhere, from the white lacquered baby grand to the immense fireplace mantle, and added warmth to the interior. I ambled over to the piano and studied the photos. In the center was a large one of a stunning couple embracing on the beach on their wedding day—Jaime and Gloria. Surrounding this centerpiece, were other photos of the couple along with numerous photos of their adorable twins—Payton and Paulette.

  “They look like the perfect family.”

  “They are,” beamed Jaime. “Wait here for a minute. I’m going to get our bags.”

  Wait! We’re staying here? Before I could ask, Blake was out the door. He was back in a flash with my roller bag, his overnight case, and the bagful of my mom’s cookies. And my tiger.

  “Come on, let’s go to the guest room and unload our stuff.”

  I got a chance to ask my question. “Are we staying here?”

  He smacked my lips with a kiss. “All weekend. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “But Blake, I hardly have a thing to wear. Almost everything in my suitcase is for cold weather.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Smirking, he scanned my body. “You won’t be needing much.”

  My heart skipped a beat and a tingle shot up my middle. For sure, Blake had the weekend well planned with one activity in mind. Fine by me.

  Taking our bags, my gorgeous sex god led me up a baby-proofed winding stairs that evoked the curl of a wave. There were numerous rooms on the second level, including an adorable nursery. The guest room meant to be ours was at the very end of a long hallway. It, too, was all white. Anchoring it—an inviting bleached wood king-sized bed covered with a plush duvet and a mountain of fluffy pillows. Blake plopped our stuff onto a nearby luggage rack while I gravitated to a huge hot pink box on the bed. The size of a suitcase, it was meticulously wrapped with a white bow as big as a basketball. I eyed a small envelope tucked inside the ribbon with my name beautifully written on it.

  “What’s this?” I asked Blake.

  “A present from Gloria.”

  “You’re kidding!” Gloria’s Secret was the largest lingerie retailer in the world, though I’d never bought much there except my cherry vanilla shampoo. Right after the holidays, I was pitching her my concept for a SIN-TV daytime block targeted at women. The PowerPoint presentation was close to being finished.

  “Open it,” Blake insisted.

  Eagerly, I reached for the envelope first. Inside was a note handwritten in the same elegant scroll.

  Dear Jennifer~

  Enjoy! Hope you have a wonderful weekend! Look forward to meeting you soon!

  xo~Gloria.

  I placed the note on the bed beside the box and proceeded to open it. Upon removing the lid, my eyes grew wide. Beneath layers of delicate pink tissue paper was a barrage of beautifully folded lingerie. Dozens of matching silk bras and bikinis in different colors and patterns, baby dolls, plus a magnificent robe. Each piece exquisite. As I dug further, I discovered the package also included Gloria’s Secret outerwear. Floral sundresses, shorts and tops, sweats as well as a couple of sexy bikinis and a pair of flip-flops. Even a sparkly black mini dress and matching stilettos. Everything I needed for a New Year’s weekend at the beach and all in my size.

  “Oh my God!” I was overwhelmed. “I can’t accept all this.”

  Blake wrapped his arms around me from behind, and I could feel his warm breath tickle the nape of my neck. “Get over it. Gloria will be insulted. And besides, it’s all really a gift for me.”

  A delicious shiver skittered down my spine as he began to unbutton my blouse and lower it past my shoulders. His hands skimmed my breasts, and I could feel my nipples peaking. Wetness was already pooling between my legs as the blouse fell to the floor.

  “Get undressed,” Blake whispered in my ear. As he nuzzled my neck, heating every bit of me, I managed to undo the zipper of my jeans and step out of them after kicking off my shoes. My breathing grew uneven as he unhooked my bra and slid it down my arms while I stepped out of my panties.

  “I want you to give me a fashion show.” He reached for a random matching bra and thong. Turquoise lace with pearl em­bell­ish­ments. “Put these on first,” he ordered, handing them to me. He rifled through the box. “And put the stilettos on too.”

  I slipped on the lingerie, then the shoes, and stood before him. I was as stiff as a board. His lustful eyes roamed my body.

  “C’mon, baby. Loosen up.” Hopping into the bed, he hit a remote and Beyoncé filled the room.

  I loved Beyoncé. She had a great voice and was all about woman-power. As she sang “Crazy in Love,” I paraded around the bed as gracefully as I could.

  Blake leaned against the headboard, his arms folded across his broad chest and his long muscular legs outstretched. His smoldering eyes followed me, and a contented smile splayed across his face.

  “Next,” he said, his voice sultry.

  I quickly stripped off the lingerie I was wearing and put on another set—a red lace strapless bra and matching thong. Blake gave me a thumbs up.

  The music got to me. He got to me. I found myself doing things I’d never done before. Pushing up my boobs. Swaying my hips. Sliding my hand beneath the lace. Throwing my ass into his face. Pouting and blowing him kisses. Even singing along. I was enjoying every moment. And so was he. I’d never felt so sexy.

  On my third change of lingerie—a sheer polka dot baby doll—he signaled me to come over to him with a curl of his finger.

  Heated, I crawled onto the bed and faced him on my hands and knees. My roaring tiger pose. To my astonishment, I actually let out a fierce growl.

  “Come here, my sexy little supermodel,” he rasped. His eyes were hooded.

  I scooted up closer to him. He unzipped his fly. Out popped his monstrous cock. There was already a bead of pre-cum on the tip. My breathing hitched.

  “Have you missed this, tiger?”

  I clutched my galloping heart like I was having an attack and breathed out, “Yes.”

  “As much as I’ve missed this?” Without warning, he tore off the scrap of fabric I was wearing and plunged a long finger deep into my pussy. I gasped.

  And gasped again when he put his finger, glistening with my juices, to his mouth and sucked it.

  “Mmmm. I might eat you for dinner, but right now, I want you to sit on my cock. And ride me.”

  Despite how loosened up I was, my body trembled. I’d never done this position before. What I knew from books I read, it was incredible. Deep and empowering. I repositioned myself so I was straddling his hips. Slowly, I lowered myself onto his huge erection. Upon entry, I yelped with pleasure. I was so wet his extraordinary length seated me in no time.

  “Oh, Blake! You feel so good,” I moaned out. God, he felt divine. So hot! So big! So mine!

  “You really have missed me, baby.” He lifted the sheer baby doll top and groped my breasts. As he kneaded them, his thumbs circled around my tender nipples, sending a rush of erotic sensations to my core. I bit down on my lip. The combination of his fullness and my flutters was already sending me over the edge.

  Drunk with lust, his eyes f
ixed on mine. “Now, tiger, anchor your hands on the bed, lift your hips, and come down on me again. Hard.”

  I did as bid and quickly got into a rhythm. While I could feel him thrusting into me, he let me control the pace and depth of penetration. I rode him hard and fast, working myself into a sweat. Every time I had sex with Blake, I thought it couldn’t get better. But this was amazing. Fucking amazing! Each time I ground down on him, he bucked into me, stimulating my clit and hitting my magic spot again and again. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! My greedy mouth sucked every ounce of flesh it could reach and chewed on his damp tee.

  The beginnings of a major orgasm descended on me quickly. I was leaving this earth. Falling off a cliff. My fingernails clawed the crisp cotton sheet. I was sure it was torn.

  “Blake, I’m going to come,” I cried out.

  “Keep your eyes open, and I want to hear you roar my name until you’re hoarse.”

  With whimpering pants that bordered on sobs, I nodded. As he continued to pummel into me, my climax spiraled, consuming every cell in its path like a fierce tornado. I roared his name until my throat was sore.

  “Fuck, tiger!” he shouted as his own orgasm collided with mine. His body jerked as he spurted his hot semen inside me. Our eyes never broke contact.

  “Fuck,” he said again with a harsh breath as he pumped one more blast into my quivering pussy.

  A heated sheen coated his face and I could practically see my reflection. He leaned forward to reward me with a kiss. I cupped his strong jaw in my hands to prolong it. His mouth was delicious, his tongue so talented. I never wanted his kisses to end.

  Recovering from my powerful orgasm, I finally pulled away. His cock was still in me. Leaning his head back against the headboard, he gazed at me and traced my face softly with his hand.

  “Tiger, do you know why you’re so sexy and beautiful?”

  I shook my head. No man had ever used those words to describe me.

  A smile played on his face. “Because you don’t know it.”

  I smiled back at him. “I do know something.”

  “And what might that be?” he asked slyly.

  “That I love you.”

  In a breath, he rolled me over and was pummeling me again.

  His heart was in his eyes when he repeated my words and breathed out one word with one final powerful thrust: “Mine.”

  We came together.

  *

  We spent the rest of the afternoon fucking and cuddling. We shared silly intimate things like childhood stories, dreams, and scars. While I had many, each with a story that captivated him, Mr. Beautiful only had one small battle scar on his back—the result of a fight he’d had with his sister, Marcy, when he was a youngster. The stories he told me about the two of them growing up together had me roaring with laughter. The funniest of all was the time his sister, ten years older and a gynecologist, found him in her office fucking one of his high school teachers with her feet in the stirrups. I laughed until I cried. Blake Burns was indeed a very naughty boy and I loved him all the more for it.

  Outside, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline sounded in my ears. Before long, the sky darkened, and exhausted from all the love and laughter, I dozed off, tucked in his brawny arm with my head on his warm taut chest. His heart beat like a lullaby in my ears.

  When we awoke, it was almost eight o’clock. Ravenous after a long, mind-blowing shower, we dressed casually in sweats and made dinner together in the enormous, state-of-the-art kitchen. The menu: lobster, champagne, and my mother’s chocolate chip cookies. He’d bought the lobsters and champagne before picking me up at the airport.

  I’d never eaten lobster before, and I had a hard time dropping the live, red-shelled creature into a large pot of warm water that was going to put it to sleep before it boiled away. Blake had told me this was a less cruel way of preparing the delicacy—the lobster would feel no pain—but it didn’t really help.

  “Blake, I can’t do it!” I cried, holding the monstrous squirming crustateon in my hand. I was practically in tears.

  “Think about some one you hate and name the lobster after him. It helps.” Standing behind me, he pressed his erection into my backside and blew hotly on my neck. “I named mine Springer.”

  I visibly shuddered. Though Springer was now behind bars, the mention of him triggered a shiver that zigzagged down my spine. The claws of my lobster snapped, adding further to my distress.

  Blake noticed my unease and tenderly kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have said his name.” He glanced at my agitated lobster. “Do you want me to put your lobster in the pot?”

  “No, I want to do it,” I said, recovering and happy that monster was going to boil to death slowly.

  Smiling, Blake asked me again, “So what’s your guy’s name?”

  I stared at my big, red-clawed shellfish. A name instantly came to my mind. “Bradley.” Yeah, my lobster looked like a Bradley. Dickwick. Laughing with me, Blake held me in his arms as I dropped Bradley into the pot and said adieu.

  The lobsters took no time to cook, and we sat down to eat right at the island counter in the kitchen. Blake tied a silly lobster bib around my neck and showed me how to eat one with the help of a nutcracker and special pick-like fork. The irony of it all was that Bradley tasted so melt-in-your-mouth good with all that melted butter. Blake told me lobster was an aphrodisiac and an ideal source of low-fat protein, much needed for a long night of seduction. I believed him. I watched him expertly crack a claw and as that snowy white meat pour out, I felt myself heated up and aroused. I took a sip of my bubbly champagne.

  At a little before nine, Blake popped another bottle of champagne. He led me to a room off the kitchen and turned on one of the many TVs. Ryan Seacrest was hosting the ball drop at New York’s Times Square where it was going on midnight. On a plush, comfy sofa, I curled up in Blake’s arms and watched the crowd go wild with the countdown. Five… four… three… two… one!

  As the ball crashed onto Times Square, Blake’s lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was lush and lingering. Auld Lang Syne filtered in my ear. The original words of the poem.

  Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon;

  The flames of Love extinguished, and fully past and gone.

  Bradley Wick, DDS, was now past, gone, and out of my life. There was only one man in the world for me who oddly shared a last name with Robert Burns, my father’s favorite poet, who’d written these words. Blake Burns. His being consumed me and brought passionate tears to my eyes.

  “Happy New Year, tiger,” he said softly, gwawing at my lips.

  “Happy New Year, Blake,” I repeated, not able to get enough of him.

  He made me insatiable and I did the same for him. We craved each other. Placing my hand on his heavy arousal, he breathed, “Let’s end this year with a bang.”

  *

  Blake, always full of surprises, had one more in store for me before the New Year dawned. The Jacuzzi. Big enough to accommodate a dozen people, it was built into an expansive deck outside the house.

  Our bare bodies buried in the bubbly water, Blake sat close to me. One strapping arm curled around my shoulders while the hand of the other held a lit cigar. The stars and the full moon sparkled overhead in the blackened sky. The steamy water gurgled while Céline Dion piped through hidden speakers, and in the near distance, I could hear the waves of the ocean softly ebb and flow. The intense warm jets of water sprayed my upper back and between my thighs, feeling so tingly good. I was in love, lust, and paradise. It couldn’t get more magical than this.

  “Tiger, do you mind if I smoke this cigar?” Blake asked, already blowing out a puff of smoke. “It’s kind of a New Year’s tradition.”

  I inhaled. The smell of the tobacco mixing with the salty sea air was heady. To my surprise, I loved it. I took the cigar from him and put it to my mouth. I inhaled and choked.

  “No problem,” I coughed out, reaching for my flute of champagne.
I took a calming sip.

  “Stop showing off,” he laughed, taking the cigar back in his hand. He inhaled another puff and I glared at him. Mesmerized by the way he held the cigar between his long fingers and sucked on the tip, drawing in his cheeks and lowering his eyes. Equally sexy was the way he pursed his kissable lips and blew out the smoke.

  “You know, baby. My father once told me a fine cigar is like a fine woman. You have to warm her before you assault her.”

  His words made my heart flutter. “Blake, when was the first time you knew you loved me?” I asked as a ring of smoke mingled with the steam from the Jacuzzi.

  He placed the cigar on a close by ashtray and turned to face me. His eyes glinted in the moonlight. Damn he was beautiful. And oh so sexy. He twirled my damp ponytail with his hand.

  “It could have been love at first sight. When you kissed me blindfolded at my club. Something changed in me. Then after the Springer thing, I knew if something happened to you, I couldn’t live. You’re my air, baby. I need you to breathe.”

  A trail of sparks blazed through my body. He loved me right from the beginning. He repeated my question.

  Tracing his kissable lips, I said, “Vegas. When I danced with you.” Ironically, a Céline Dion version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” the song we danced to, was piping through the hidden speakers. Maybe he’d intentionally programmed it. I shifted a little and the powerful jet beneath me stimulated my clit.

  He tugged at my ponytail. “It took you that long?” His voice was playfully miffed.

  I twisted a smile. No, it hadn’t. The truth: I think I’d loved him the minute my mouth set down on his in that game of Truth or Dare too. I’d felt the earth move in my heart. Maybe it was lust. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to tell him.

  We imbibed some champagne and glanced up at the starry sky. My head rested on his rugged chest.

  “Jennifer, do you know why the moon and the stars shine?”

  I shook my head. The words of the beautiful song were affecting me. The jets were affecting me. He was affecting me. Desire was bubbling inside me. “Why?”