“Blake, I need you to make me come.” She held out her free hand. “Give me that and get over here.”
In a flash, he pressed the condom into her palm and only went as far as tearing his pants open and setting his erection free before joining her.
After ripping the package open with her teeth, she rolled the condom on him and guided him inside her.
Tight, wet, warm, she enveloped him within her and let out a moan. “God, you feel good.”
Trying to get control of his own body, he ground his hips in a circle. “I’m so damned turned on, I don’t know if I can hold back.”
With a low laugh, she nipped at his lower lip. “I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to give it to me.”
At the confirmation they both wanted the same thing, he gave into his own animalistic needs and thrust into her.
“Harder.” She curled her legs around his waist. “Come on.”
He didn’t let up. Instead, he drove into her again and again. The friction they created together heated the room. His heart sped and he broke out into a sweat.
“I’m going to come.” Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Wait for me.” He growled his demand and pounded his body against hers. Strong, powerful, long strokes that propelled them both closer.
“Blake, I’m there.” Her eyes closed, she shook her head.
“Hold back.” He took her by the chin. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
They stared at each other as he continued his onslaught.
Rather than beg for release, she writhed below him and bit her lip.
Her restraint was his undoing. Pure need flooded through him. “Luna.” His erection lengthened with the pending promise of release.
“Please,” she whispered.
Every muscle in his body tensed. “Now!” No sooner did the word exit his mouth than the first pulse of his climax hit, more accurately, slammed against him, knocking the breath out of him.
Luna screamed and held him tight.
Somehow he gathered the strength to pull back only to plunge into her once again with another surge of rapture. As the third wave hit him, he couldn’t move, he could only allow this ecstasy to consume him.
As the frenzy calmed down, he collapsed upon her and attempted to take a normal breath. Her body still fluttered along his satisfied length and her legs fell off to his sides.
“Luna.” His faculties returning, he gently palmed her exposed breast. “I need to ask you something.”
“All right.” Her voice was now soft and dreamy.
“Will you tell me what you write about?”
She swallowed. “Experience.”
“What do you mean?” He turned his face into the crook of her neck and kissed her.
“I write what I experience. There is no truer art than life.”
The poem he found definitely supported her statement. He propped himself up. “So is that why you came here today?”
“The dress fit.” Using one finger, she traced the outline of his lips.
“Seriously.” Something strange resonated through him.
“The experience.” A smile broke out on her face. “In the end, isn’t that everything?”
“In the end, don’t you want something more?”
She answered with a shrug. “Maybe there isn’t anymore.”
“What if there is?”
“You said I’m your muse. My experience is your creative expression.”
Earlier, his gut told him to get to know her, learn about her, and not give into the other part of his body. “Well then, why don’t I get you to experience something completely different?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“How about we experience a real date?” He attempted not to clench his jaw.
“I don’t know. I’ve experienced that before. Maybe it doesn’t need to be revisited.” Her body language completely changed. She looked away and huffed.
“Not with me.” He leaned over into her line of sight. “Me and you, on a date. No designing, no pretense, no sex.”
“No sex?” Her eyes widened.
“We experienced that. Now it’s time for something else.” Apparently, he found himself in a war of wills and need to break down some walls. If he wanted a revolution he had to have resolve.
Chapter Seven
AT THREE O’CLOCK, a messenger service delivered a pair of black stilettos to Luna’s apartment. At three thirty, the skintight leather pants she admired at Blake’s studio showed up and at four o’clock the matching jacket with a note from the designer himself.
Hair down and straight, smoky eye and bright red lips. If I didn’t design it, it doesn’t belong on your body. I will be there at six sharp.
Blake
Her cheeks heated, and she bit the inside of her mouth as she assessed his gifts. Noticeably absent were any sort of undergarments. Maybe he reconsidered his rule about no sex.
“Well, well, well.” Ciro entered the room, snatched the card out of her hand and lifted up the pair of shoes. “I’m not sure if I approve.”
“I’m sure I didn’t ask you.” She jumped off the couch and retrieved the card.
“Never thought I would find a guy telling you what to do or what to wear.” Ciro tossed the shoes back into the box and plopped down on his favorite chair. “Isn’t that the anti-you? I can’t believe you’ve even seen him this many times.”
The reference to her past failures made her chest tighten. She refused to repeat any patterns that wouldn’t make for an experience. “He’s only telling me of our plans, and I’m only letting him choose my clothes because they are custom-made for me and he is a true fashion designer. Most girls should get so lucky.”
“I think you’ve gotten lucky too much in the last few days and now your head is in the clouds. That’s what orgasms do, they release all those chemicals in the brain and make you feel euphoric.” With a laugh, Ciro flipped on the television.
“How do you know I even had an orgasm?” A sour taste rose in the back of her throat at having even asked that question to her big brother.
He held up his hand as a shield. “It’s written all over your face. Speaking of which, have you written anything?”
On automatic, she reached over, grabbed her journal off the side table and clutched it to her chest with Blake’s card. “Just a little. Nothing fit to submit.”
“Ohm really?” Ciro lowered his hand. “What do you call it when someone tells you what to wear right down to the lipstick color?”
Sexy. She called it sexy. As if her body craved Blake, her core already flooded at the mere thought of him and the way he demanded she wait to come for him. Any other experience with a man usually left her trying to catch up, not the other way around. “I told you, I’m his muse.”
“He seemed cool, sophisticated and like a gentleman. Plus, you have hearts in your eyes. It’s almost too sweet.” He gave her a thumbs-up.
“I don’t have the hearts anywhere.” Maybe the hots, but not hearts. No more relationships and wanting the guys who left to stick around. No more heartache, no more waiting. Her own parents couldn’t even stay, why would some random guy? No, from now on she would be the first to wave goodbye. Have her orgasm or in Blake’s case, orgasms, and leave.
“You just choose to ignore them.” Just like a guy, Ciro changed the channels not stopping at one long enough to see what was playing.
She inhaled to argue. Tell her brother she had no desire for anything deeper than really amazing awesome sex, but then remembered for the millionth time today that she agreed to his no sex date. “I can have sex if I want to.” At realizing she said the words aloud, she shook her head.
“Yes, you can.” He pointed at her then wrinkled his nose.
The ringing of their doorbell for a fourth time saved her from continuing this conversation. She practically collided with the door and threw it open.
The same deliveryman from earlier returned and held out a
little black bag for her.
Maybe Blake decided on underwear after all.
“Thank you.” She tried to tip him before, but he refused to take it.
The man nodded, turned on his heel and left.
Like she did with the earlier arrivals, no sooner had the door closed than she tore through the wrapping, this time revealing a little golden organza bag holding a pair of drop earrings. With care, she studied the set, earrings with a black jewel and golden splatters painted on them. “Oh.” While she wondered if he made them, she also had to admire the fact he didn’t give them to her in a little jewelry box, not that she expected jewelry, especially any that came in a box.
At her heart fluttering, she put her hands over her eyes. Something was desperately wrong with her. What did she even know about him besides the fact he was a designer, gorgeous, sweet, sexy, attentive and smart? Well, of course that was why they were going on their no sex date. “Oh, my God.”
“Remember back when you had that crush on that singer in the boy band?” Ciro chuckled.
“I was like fifteen years old.” Even though she didn’t face her brother, she still rolled her eyes. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. Her mother just bid them a farewell and left as her parting gift this rundown apartment building in LA. She lived the fantasy back then, boy bands, parents returning, all that kind of stuff.
“Well, this crush is worse than that one, and you’re acting just as mature.”
For a moment she considered calling Blake and cancelling. Instead of flutters and tingles she wanted orgasms and experiences.
Then she glanced at the couch with the shoes and the pants and the jacket, not to mention the earrings she still cradled in her palm. The date itself was an experience.
“I need to get ready.” She scooped up her items and stomped away into her bedroom.
All the while she took a shower, she shaved her legs, straightened her hair and applied her makeup, including the smoky eye and bright red lip. She tried not to think of Blake, which in turn only made her think of Blake. After putting on the perfectly fitting outfit and shoes, and slipping the earrings into her ears, she sat at her desk and opened her journal. With a little time before Blake’s arrival, she read what she wrote earlier.
The rush, the heat, the build up and finally an explosion,
The need to resist temptation has left my heart frozen.
Does one take a chance or just enjoy the ride?
Maybe the easiest thing is to run or to hide.
Is there any explanation for what they call chemistry?
Do I even want the answer? I just want to be me.
Muse, maybe lover, a partner for a simple release.
Yet my mind swirls and craves inner peace.
Do I remain distant, or do allow the gap to close?
Whatever the decision, it’s my path I chose.
Luna stared at the last line of the unfinished stanza and lifted her pen. Try as she might to not rhyme the words, all her poems came out the same way. True artists would call her a novice.
She thumbed through the crinkled pages of the leather bound book
Another knock on the door jolted her out of her literary reprieve.
Rather than flutter, her heart seized. Though she found the strength to stand, her knees seemed wobbly. Still, she glanced in the mirror, grabbed her purse and went to the door, cursing her shaking hand and thanking any entity above that Ciro left the building. “Who is it?” The question bought her a second to calm down and stop her own unique brand of foolishness.
“Open the door and find out.” Blake’s voice resonated through the wood barrier.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, stood up straight and with conviction opened the door, tightening her hold on the knob at the sight of him. Even dressed in simple black jeans, a matching long sleeved pullover and a leather jacket, he was put together, fit for any activity. His bit of scruff gave him an edge, and she didn’t really need to go all swoony over his face. Fine, he was really, really… really good looking. No wonder Ciro thought she was acting like a pre-teen, she was practically fainting.
He stepped back and put his hand to his chin. “Are you going to move away from the door so I can see you?”
Well, he probably wanted to see his creation. She gave in and moved away from the door.
His eyes took her in, and he tilted his head.
After what seemed like eternal silence, she finally spoke. “Is something the matter?” She broke out in a sweat and then sweated some more at the thought she was sweating in Blake’s custom clothing. From the start, she knew this was a bad idea. She never worried about her appearance before, never cared what anyone thought of her wardrobe, yet here she was practically standing in a puddle of her own sweat with concern. This wasn’t an experience. It was torture.
“Yes, there is.” In one fluid motion he moved toward her, letting himself into her apartment and walking around her, the earthy spicy scent of his cologne enveloping her.
Her breath caught and, as if exposed, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “What is it? I put everything on.”
“And nothing that doesn’t belong on you, right?” He stopped in front of her.
Honestly, she would have slapped him across the face if she had any strength in her rubber arms. Instead, she managed to give him a hell of a glare.
“I think I have just the thing.” A smile taking over his face, he reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small clutch matching the embossed leather of her pants. “Just large enough for your ID, that gorgeous red lipstick, and the finishing touch.”
Her final touch was either going to be stomping away unless he meant to put a condom in there.
He opened the little purse and pulled out a distressed gold chain, on it a matching pendant to her earrings but with a golden griffon in the center. “Did you know that griffons were thought to guard treasures?”
Somehow she managed a nod and took in the half eagle half lion mythical beast.
“Then let’s hope it does its job when I’m not around to take over.” He worked the clasp on the chain, leaned in and fastened the jewelry around her neck. “You are ravishing, and I’m not speaking about the clothes.”
Was he sure he wanted to have a no sex date? With his words and the charged sexy vibe that surrounded him, she was going to start a protest. The man wanted a revolution, but she was preparing a revolt. “However, they fit perfectly.”
“Only because it’s you. It’s exactly what I pictured, even better.” He kissed her neck. “I don’t want to mess up your lipstick yet. Are you ready to go?”
Shivers ran through her. Thankfully, she’d at least be getting her lipstick messed up. She grabbed the tube and her ID and some cash from out of her much larger bag and transferred them into the one designed for her outfit. “Sure.”
“Excellent.” He took her hand and guided her out the door. “While I do want to wine and dine you, I thought we would start with something a little different, at least for me.”
Caught in a daze, she followed him to a vintage German sedan in mint condition. From the first time she met him, she predicted he would drive this type of car. He played his part of gentleman to the hilt and opened the door for her. “Beautiful car.” She slipped into the smooth leather seat.
“It was the first car my fathers bought together. From the day I turned sixteen until I graduated design school I begged them for it. They relinquished it as a graduation present.” He shut the door.
Back up. She rewound his entire sentence in her mind and noticed a typo or something else. Her mouth opened, and she waited for him to join her in the car.
They both turned to each other at the same time.
“Yes, I said fathers.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Are they a couple?” Part of her hated she even asked, if it were a more traditional coupling it wouldn’t be a question.
“Going on thirty-five years.”
“That’s amazing.”
Talk about experience. She couldn’t stop a smile.
“I think so.” He winked and started the car.
Once he pulled away from the curb, she watched the lights as they drove through the city. She wrote many poems about the skyscrapers in Los Angeles.
“What are you thinking about?” He turned on the radio and some jazz music echoed through the car.
Since he opened up about his fathers, she supposed she could tell him. “Do you ever think the skyscrapers in Los Angeles are jealous of their larger and more impressive cousins in New York?” No one ever understood her and she waited for him to laugh.
At a stoplight he bent down and gazed out the window. “Maybe the East Coasters are jealous of the buildings over here on the West Coast. Sure they don’t have some of the history, but they have a lot more room instead of being all crammed together on an island, and they never have to deal with snow.”
Unable to stop herself, she took his hand.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “We’re just about there.”
They turned into the arts district with the galleries and such. After parking the car, he pointed to their destination, an upscale coffee house and diner known for their organic blends and locally sourced foods for their menu items. A crowd had gathered inside.
“Since you did me the honor of wearing my art, I thought we would start our evening together listening to some of yours.” He interlaced their fingers.
His words struck her. She wore his art and all these people were inside. Besides her and his workers and possibly his fathers, no one had seen his clothes before. “Your work speaks for itself.” Before they entered, she stood up straight and held her head high, trying her best to provide a proper canvas. It wasn’t until they were inside and led out to a back patio that she realized they were at a poetry reading.
Though she tried to resist, her heart swelled at the gesture. She wasn’t normally the type who sought out readings or other activities related to her craft. They made her anxious and feel like a failure and she preferred keeping to herself. However, she was up to hear some amateurs read their material. Sometimes she wished she could just be happy writing for writing’s sake.
Come Undone: Romance Stories Inspired by the Music of Duran Duran Page 6
