by Tamara Lush
“God, you’re stunning. I want to worship you,” he said against my skin, then trailed his lips over my jaw, my throat, and to my nipples, which had puckered into hard peaks.
Instinctually, I opened my legs wide and wrapped them around his hips. He responded by grinding into me. I tugged on his head, pulling him up from my breast so I could have easier access to strip off his shirt. As I unbuttoned, I stared at his skin underneath the linen. It was smooth, slightly olive-toned, and more muscular than I’d anticipated. I slipped the shirt over his shoulders but didn’t take it all the way off.
Holy crap, his shoulders. They were cut and chiseled and one of many masculine details on his body. He dipped to kiss me again, hungry, his tongue scorching mine. When his bare chest brushed against my exposed nipples, I shuddered from arousal. His chest only had a sprinkling of dark hair, and I fluttered my fingers over the ridges of his muscles.
He let out a low, guttural groan. Sitting up, he quickly stripped off his shirt and flung it to the floor. Then he went to work on my garters, freeing the stockings from their elastic bands, pausing to run a thumb between my legs over the fabric of my lace panties.
“They’re soaked,” he murmured.
I responded by shivering and raising my arms over my head. “You’re free to take them off and see how wet I really am.”
I closed my legs as he hooked his thumbs into the lacy bands at my hips. Slowly, too slowly, he eased them down my legs and then tossed the panties to the floor. My stockings were disheveled but still high on my thighs, and the corset still covered my entire torso—except for my breasts, which he’d freed from the lace. They’d grown heavy, seeking his touch.
I spread my legs again, offering myself to him.
“Emma,” he whispered, then repeated my name several times as he looked at me. His hands ran up my thighs and stopped when his thumbs reached my labia. Spreading me open, he inhaled sharply. He brushed his thumb the length of my slit.
I whimpered and turned my head to the side. A huge lock of hair fell over my face.
“There?” he asked, his thumb circling softly around my folds. Teasing me.
I nodded and whimpered again, then groaned when he removed his thumb and stuck it in my mouth. I sucked, seeking release somehow, somewhere, because I pulsed with primal need.
“Caleb, I’m so turned on it won’t take me long to…” I trailed off because his hands were back between my legs. His thumb circled my clit, and with his other hand he’d slid a finger into my wet core. Then two fingers, curling them upward to my G-spot. I’d never been so coiled tight and primed to come or so wet. Like Florida-summer-rainstorm wet.
“Like that?”
I cried out, my sudden orgasm overtaking my senses, tearing through me. It was violent and fast, and I threw my head back, gasping. I gripped his wrist to stop his thumb’s movement at my clit because it was too much. Too sensitive. Too intimate, all of a sudden. Caleb moved up and pressed his body on top of mine, kissing me as spasms rocked between my legs. I gulped for air and clung to him.
I’m not sure what surprised me more: the intensity of the orgasm or the way Caleb was shaking as I held him in my arms.
“We need to go in the bedroom.” He eased his body off mine. It was warm, too warm, and I sat up so I could undo my corset, which had a dozen little hooks in front. I looked up to see Caleb watching me. When our eyes met, he knelt and smoothed the hair that had fallen messily in my face.
“You,” he whispered.
I grinned and leaned to kiss him, then undid the last hook, and let the corset fall off my body. He unrolled my stockings and then stood, never taking his eyes off me. He scooped me off the sofa like I was a bride and carried me away.
8
We tumbled on the bed, and both of us went for the belt around his waist as our limbs and tongues tangled. We were panting, needy, desperate.
“I’ll do it,” he growled, sliding off the bed to standing. We hadn’t turned on a lamp, and the twinkling lights of central Florida outside the window illuminated the room. Still lying on the bed, all I could do was watch from a few feet away while he stripped off his pants and his black boxer-briefs.
Oh dear God. His entire body was tight and muscular. And his cock was huge, bigger than I’d imagined. I must have made a little happy noise because he laughed.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked, angling toward the nightstand.
“I like and I want.” I sounded like a cavewoman, and this made me grin. “Get on top of me.”
He tore open a condom and sheathed himself, then eased over my body. Fluttered kisses down my neck. Made my skin hum when I felt his cock trail down my stomach. His lips were soft and gentle now, and he was back to teasing me. I giggled.
“Tell me what’s funny, Emma?”
“You’re mistaking humor for happiness. I’m so fucking happy right now, Caleb.” I ran my hands over the ridges and valleys of muscles in his back and then squeezed his taut ass.
He pushed my legs open and paused. Suddenly the room, which was illuminated only by the lights outside, took on a white-hot quality, and I realized it was my desire. I looked into his austere face and saw that little smile, his cool eyes. I needed him, as much as he could give.
“That makes two of us. And I think this will make both of us even happier.”
His mouth locked on mine, and he entered me, slow. Inch by tantalizing inch. I gasped. The feeling of his cock stretching me made me scrape his neck with my teeth.
“This okay? You’re tight. Fuck.” His voice was hoarse.
“God, yes. Yes.”
He thrust slowly, pulling out until only the tip of his cock was in me. Then he eased himself to the hilt. Then did it all over. And again. Again.
“I know you want it faster and harder, but I’m not going there now. I’m going to take this at my pace, Emma. Nice and fucking slow.”
I gathered fistfuls of the duvet cover, feeling another orgasm approaching. I made a muffled squeak into his skin. “I think I’m going to come again.”
“Mmm, I know you’re going to come again,” he growled, picking up his pace a little and adding a grind of his hips when he was fully buried in me. “Put your arms around me. Scratch me, if you want.”
I did, clawing him until he sucked in a breath.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispered, then bit my bottom lip hard.
God, he was good. Too good. The best I’d had in years.
Maybe ever. Yes, ever.
I moaned, so close to my second climax. He slid an arm around my waist and I rocked my hips into his, desiring something faster, but he had taken complete control of my body and our rhythm. And he slid in and out of me with a maddening, unhurried pace.
He stopped kissing me long enough to prop himself on both hands and suck on my nipple, and that’s when my entire body arched and clenched, then burst into a release.
I came again in pulsing waves, hard and long. I gasped the word fuck a few times, and he continued to thrust slow and steady.
“Just like that, Emma. Just. Like. That.”
My half-closed eyes flew open and I gasped, and that’s when he started to fuck me hard. He pressed his muscular body atop mine, clenched my wrists with his hands, and mumbled something about exploding. He bit my shoulder, and at one point, he pulled my hair to have access to my neck. The pain was exceptional, sublime, and I closed my eyes, awash in pleasure. I think my body might have been emitting light and heat in that moment. Incandescent.
Then he stopped all the roughness and buried his face tenderly in my neck. He let go of my arms, and I embraced him. I could feel his cock get fuller, and then he came, making the sexiest groans and grunts I’d ever heard from a man’s mouth. His arms slid around my back and he hugged me, tight. We clung to each other for a while, sweaty and intimate. Certainly too intimate for two people who didn’t know each other well.
I could feel his heart beating, I think. Or maybe it was mine. I wasn’t sure.
“
I don’t think I was prepared for that to be so intense,” he said, slowly rolling off me and exhaling long.
“I know I wasn’t.”
“Christ, Emma. It’s like you were made for me.”
I laughed. “What do you mean?”
He grabbed my hand and threaded his fingers through mine, then kissed my hand. “You’re like my perfect fantasy woman.”
“Your perfect fantasy woman is short, with a thick ass, curly hair, and pale skin?”
And a poor bookstore owner from a trailer park, I almost added.
“That’s how you put it. I’d say my fantasy woman is well-read. Is tiny and curvy and gorgeous. Like a little doll. My little sex doll. With this long dark hair and a tiny little waist and these… God, these.” He took my breasts in his hands. “They’re the perfect size. I loved watching them move when I was on top of you. And your ass, Jesus. Roll over so I can see your ass. I was too busy fucking you to stare at it.”
I rolled onto my stomach and turned my head to look at him. “My ass is big.”
He smacked my butt lightly, then squeezed. “Stop. Your ass is stunning. You’re stunning. I was attracted to you the minute I saw you in that bar. We had a spark.”
“Insta-lust.”
“What?”
I rolled onto my back, so I was laying half on top of him. Maybe I should have been offended he’d called me his sex doll, but I thought it was dirty, sexy, funny. Honest. At least he wasn’t trying to make this into something it clearly wasn’t. Something I would be afraid of.
I stretched my arms out wide. “Insta-lust. It’s a romance novel term. It means that two people had an out-of-this-world attraction from the minute they saw each other.”
He cupped my breasts playfully. “Isn’t that what happened with us? Happened for me, anyway.”
I giggled and he put his arms around me. “Mmhmm. So have you always liked brunettes?”
“Yeah. I have. Ever since I was a teenager.”
“And yet you’ve spent most of your life in Florida. Where the gold standard is blonde, blue-eyed, Hooters waitresses.” I rolled over on my stomach again and stared at him.
He shrugged. “That type never did anything for me. Now, when I go to Paris? I walk around with a hard-on because of all those little dark-haired women like you.”
That made me chuckle and I bit his arm. “I’ll remember that if we’re ever in Paris together.”
We lounged for a bit in his bed, kissing. I saw him get that sleepy, post-sex droop to his eyelids. I was wide-awake, charged with electricity and adrenaline.
And worry.
As much as I wanted a repeat performance of Caleb’s considerable talents, I didn’t want to spend the night. It was too intimate, too much, and too soon. It’s not that I didn’t want to cuddle and sleep in his arms. I did. Very much. But waking up next to him in the morning and saying an uncomfortable goodbye seemed even worse. Like it would cheapen what we shared somehow.
“Caleb,” I whispered. “I’m going home.”
His eyes snapped open. “You are? Why?”
I ran a finger down his chest. “I have to open the bookstore early, and um, I think it’s best.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Let me walk you out.”
See? He didn’t really want me to stay. This was a one-night thing for both of us. The sooner I got that through my head, the better.
I gathered my things, put on most of my clothes—the stockings and garter ended up stuffed in my purse—and we stepped in the elevator. He cupped my face and kissed me softly as it took us to the lobby. I tried not to glance at the old man behind the desk as Caleb held the door open for me.
“You don’t have to go, you know.”
“I know. But I don’t want things to be awkward.” We had arrived at my car and I felt ashamed at how the green paint had faded on the roof.
“Awkward how?”
“I don’t want you to think…that I think this is more than what it is…”
“Emma, here’s what this is: really fucking hot. And I want to do it again, okay? Do you want to?”
I nodded, trying not to show my elation.
A grin spread on his face. “Good. I’ll call you tomorrow, then. Get some rest.”
He planted a soft and lingering kiss on my lips, then a quick brush of his mouth across my forehead, and watched me drive off.
9
Despite his words, I assumed that would be it. I thought he’d never call or text. Some guys were like that.
But Caleb called the following night.
“Hey, doll.”
Surprised, I fumbled and my cell dropped to the carpet. I was knitting a sweater for Sarah’s rescue mutt, trying to zone out and not think about the incredible sex we’d had the night before.
We ended up talking for two hours about nothing and everything. Our conversation was flirty but not sexual, smart and not forced. In short, it was sublime. I grinned throughout the call and slid onto the rug, my back against the sofa. My body responded to his voice, sparking when he laughed and glowing every time he called me doll.
Like I was a goddamned teenager.
“Want to have brunch tomorrow?” he asked when the clock struck midnight. “I’m flying to Miami late afternoon so I can prepare for an early morning meeting on Monday. But I’d love to see you before.”
“Of course,” I purred.
The next morning, Caleb picked me up five minutes early. He kissed me on the cheek, and I flushed hot in his presence. Brunch was easy and fun, and he had all the right answers for everything. Which is why little warning bells started going off in my head.
“Favorite movie?” I asked.
“The Godfather: Part Two,” he responded.
“Music?”
“Jazz. And Arcade Fire.”
I sipped my mimosa, impressed.
And one more: “If you could choose anyone to have dinner with tonight, who would it be?”
He reached for my hand and laughed. “Other than you?”
Oh, he was good. Practiced, probably, in seduction. Don’t fall for him so fast, I steeled myself. This seemingly perfect man must have some secret lurking, somewhere. But I mostly relaxed, knowing he’d be out of town for three days and I could regain my equilibrium. When he dropped me off in his sleek, silver Mercedes, he stopped the car in front of my little bungalow and climbed out to open my door.
We stood on my porch, and he cradled my head in his hands. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other night,” he whispered, then leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft and his kiss-rhythm slow, and I slid my hands over his chest, wishing I could strip off his red T-shirt. Electricity howled through my body when he stopped to look into my eyes, brushing his thumb over my lips.
“Dinner at my place when I return?”
I nodded, mesmerized.
The next few days were a blur. A dozen red roses-—sent by Caleb—greeted me at the bookstore, along with a notice that the city council had set a time and day for the hearing about the redevelopment of our block.
“Why don’t you ask Caleb his advice?” Sarah asked. “He probably knows everyone. Didn’t you say he lobbies politicians?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to get him involved. I don’t need his advice.” I also didn’t want Caleb to know that my business and life were so dismal that if the bookstore closed, I’d be destitute within a few short months. Growing up poor, with parents who needed food stamps to supplement our family’s meager income, meant that I preferred to rely on myself and not on someone’s charity.
I wanted to succeed or fail on my own terms.
On Wednesday, I had an initial consult with a lawyer. She was decent enough, I guess, and asked me a ton of questions about the building and the businesses in it, then promised to do some research.
“I’m not sure what we can do, if anything. Give me a few days,” she said.
Not exactly what I’d wanted to hear.
I strode back into
the bookstore, the bile in my throat rising with each step. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb, standing in the religion section with a book on Buddhism in his hand.
“Emma.”
I smiled. He was a welcome diversion to a frustrating day. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his smooth cheek.
“I was talking to Sarah and she said you had a meeting. I wasn’t sure if I was going to catch you. I just returned from Miami and wanted to make plans for dinner.”
A jolt of fear went through me as I wondered if Sarah had told Caleb about the lawyer and my reason for meeting with her.
“Um, sure. Yes.”
Caleb leaned into my ear and nibbled, sending shivers through me. “Good. I’ve got a new vegetarian recipe and the perfect dessert planned.” He squeezed my ass, kissed me quickly goodbye, and left.
I wasted no time in finding Sarah at the counter, making little review cards for books. “Did you tell Caleb where I was?”
“Relax. No.”
I let out a breath.
“You should explain your situation to him, though. It’s pretty damn clear he’s smitten. He waited here for a half-hour, talking about Miami and a book by Edwidge Danticat that you gave him. I’m sure he’d help.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves,” she said softly.
“Thank you for the Emily Brontë quote. And don’t you even dare tell Laura about any of this, if you’re seeing her soon. This has nothing to do with pride.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. It does. You don’t want to let him see the imperfect Emma. You only want him to see the perfect Emma.”
“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d tell you to fuck off.”
“You can tell me to fuck off, but you know it’s true. I’ve known you for—what, fifteen years?”
