by Deanna Chase
He noticed the quick rise-and-fall of her chest and realized she was breathing hard. Damn, right! Was her heart pounding as rough and as loud as his own? Licking his lips, he looked at the progress of her body pictorial.
Attached to the stocking, he saw a thin black strap … up went the sparkly cloth … just enough to tantalize.
He shucked off his boxers. Tossed his blazer to the floor.
The black lace garter was revealed, a wisp of lace clinging to her hips.
Good-bye, T-shirt.
His gaze traveled along the garter, afraid to look, to know if she’d lied about the panties. Then … he dared. His breath left in a whoosh. No panties. When she went bare—she went bare. She’d had a Brazilian bikini wax—the kind of painful removal of pubic hair that left a woman’s nether regions smooth and naked. Except—he swallowed hard—for a thin strip of light brown hair that arrowed to her feminine core.
His cock throbbed, ached, and promised ejaculatory punishment if he teased it just one more time with image, touch, or word.
She stared at him with raised eyebrows. He saw the appreciation in her gaze as she looked him over. He refused to toast his skin in tanning beds or blister under the hot sun in nothing more than a Speedo, so his skin wasn’t basted brown like some of his contemporaries. However, his body was toned and muscled. Tan or not, Abby obviously enjoyed his form. Her gaze went dark and her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. He promised to never again give his personal trainer so much shit for those harsh workouts.
She arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wicked smile, and then took off her dress, her coy manipulation gone in a flash. She smiled, revealing that cute dimple, and crooked a finger, wiggling it in the universal female language that translated to: Come here, big boy.
Desire shot through him. He advanced toward Abby, like a lion stalking a gazelle. She looked … scrumptious. She wasn’t bone thin, thank God. She was curvy—as in dangerous curves ahead. The garter belt encircled her waist, the straps attached to the silk stockings … hot damn! She wore nothing else except the sexy black-lace bra. She had such gorgeous, big breasts—he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was a typical, slobbering male when it came to boobs. Her large, luscious nipples protruded beneath the thin material. He wanted to play with those breasts, taste the oversized areolas, suck the nipples…
“We skipped dinner,” he said. “Maybe I should have a bite.” He dropped to his knees and showered slow kisses between her thighs, his tongue sliding on the smooth flesh, tasting the cinnamon of her skin.
She smelled good, she tasted good, and she felt good. His cock zoomed from “perked” to steel rod. Later, he’d take the time to explore Abby’s womanhood centimeter by centimeter—to torture her into mindless pleasure. For now….
He moved his hands up to her buttocks and squeezed, pushing her closer to his mouth. His tongue swirled up her swollen flesh—one side, the other side—and down again. Her juices coated his chin as he sucked the sweet inner lips. He feasted until his tongue reached the sensitive knot waiting like a diamond on a gold crown. Just a tease, a quick swipe … down again, delving into her entrance … thrusting his tongue inside the warmth … sipping her nectar.
She shuddered and he felt the rough dive of her fingers into his hair.
Slow licks up, up, up … then he took the hard little nub between his lips and swept his tongue across it.
Flick. Suck.
Her thighs trembled.
Flick. Suck.
She moaned.
Flick. Suck.
She came, a violent release that had her grabbing his skull and bucking against his face. His mouth flooded with her nirvana. He gladly drank from her, greedy for her taste, and all the while her cries of completion reverberated through him.
He lost it. His mind fogged, his body went from white-hot to inferno. He stood up, grasping her buttocks, kneading the flesh, kissing her neck, breathing in her scent. He led her to the bed, and they fell on to it. He rolled her underneath him, and took a shuddering breath. Just the pressure of her soft thighs on his manhood was enough to send pre-orgasmic frissons ricocheting from balls to bone. Shit. I’m going to come before I even get inside her.
God, she was wet. He slipped inside her tight, warm sheath. Slow, man. Do it slow or you’ll scare the hell out of her. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
A gliding press in, an agonizing withdrawal … another long, unhurried stroke … and another … damn, he was going to die from this torture.
“Um, Reese?” He heard the hesitation in her voice. I can’t go any slower. Please don’t ask.
“Yeah?”
“Would you mind … I’m not criticizing your technique … but would you please do it hard and fast?”
“Arg-ugh,” he agreed.
He slammed into her once, clawing at her waistline as he penetrated deeply. Then, with the blessings of Abby, if her growly moans were considered amens, he pounded into her slick flesh—hard, fast, and deep. His cock pulsed with imminent release, too stimulated to hang on for an extended performance. She smelled so good, that strange sugar-spice scent—like gingerbread, like Christmas, like home.
Her thighs tightened around his waist and she scraped her nails down his back, crying out as she went over again.
“Abby!” The orgasm rushed through him, an endless wave of light and sound and pleasure, while his cock jerked with release. When he could breathe again, he rose on his elbows and looked at her.
“I might need a priest,” answered Reese, wrapping his arms around her. “Because I think I’m about to die happy.”
She laughed against his chest then swiped a bead of sweat with her tongue. She kissed her way up his breastbone, tasting the salt of his skin, until she got to his neck. Nibble, nibble, nibble. God, he smelled all manly and felt all muscle-ly, and looked all yummy-sweet.
“Why don’t we take a shower, snuggle into bed, and get some rest?” asked Reese as his hand coasted down her backside to cup her buttock.
“Hmmm. That’s kinda like my plan.”
“Yeah?”
“Take a shower, snuggle into bed, have wild monkey sex, then get some rest.”
“I vote for your plan.”
She laughed and sat up, stretching her arms over her head.
“Whoa.” He cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. “Have I told you that I love your breasts?”
“Once or twice.”
He leaned forward and licked her left nipple, then blew on it, causing it to tighten. That sexy move was an extension of his patented breathy-kissy thing. “Did I mention that your breasts are so beautiful they should be cast in bronze and put on special display at the Louvre?”
“That’s the nicest compliment my mammary glands ever got.”
He couldn’t stop playing with her boobs, and that was fine by her, but he managed to pry his gaze from her chest to look into her eyes. “You are a fabulous woman, Abby Reed. All of you.”
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
4
When Abby awoke in the heavenly four-poster bed, she found the strong arms of Reese Cadwell wrapped around her waist. She was tucked into the crook of his body, held like Reese’s personal teddy bear. He felt warm and hard against her—a shield of manly reassurance. Early in her marriage to Dale, she had felt this way, protected and comforted and loved. It had been a pleasure to wake up next to him, a joy to feel his body stretched next to hers. But, like this time with Reese, that had been a lovely and short-lived dream.
She managed to scoot out of his embrace and get out of the tangle of sheets. The bed was huge! She had to crawl at least three feet to reach its edge.
“Where’re you goin’?” croaked Reese.
She looked at him over her shoulder. He hadn’t cracked open his eyes, but he managed to gather one of the pillows into his arms as her fluffy replacement. Not a morning person, was he? She grinned. “I’m going to take a shower.”
His eyes sprang open and interest shone in his brown eyes. “You mean you’re gonna be under a spray of water soaping yourself … everywhere?”
“It’s not pay-per-view,” she said, chuckling.
“Hmmm.”
“Go to back to sleep, Reese.”
“’Kay,” he murmured and his eyes fluttered shut. She hadn’t walked ten steps before she heard his light snore. Definitely not a morning person.
After a quick shower, she toweled dry her hair and belted herself into one of the comfy hotel bathrobes. For the hell of it, she tucked her feet into the luxurious matching slippers. She entered the bedroom and stopped short. Reese was not only awake, but he’d also managed to get breakfast.
“I was only gone twenty minutes,” she said plunking onto the bed and crawling toward the feast he’d laid out on a big, round tray. His naked chest gleamed in the slant of sunlight penetrating the gauze curtains; her heart quickened. A thin sheet covered him to his waist, but she knew what was underneath and what it was capable of. Reese’s talents were many. She bit back a smile. No need to give his ego boost on that score. Still, she felt the tingling pleasure of arousal, the flush of heat in her core as she considered the man’s skills.
“There are perks to being Reese Cadwell, movie star,” he said in a deep announcer’s voice. “Have no fear. I only use my powers for good … and, occasionally, for ordering breakfast to arrive in record time.”
“No argument here.” She plopped a berry into her mouth and eyed the waffles. “Is that whipped cream?”
“Yep.”
She picked up the bowl of fresh whipped cream and peered at it. “It’s missing something.”
Reese’s brows rose as he considered the snowy concoction. Abby shimmied out of the robe and with Reese’s questioning gaze on her, brought the whipped cream to her breasts. The toast on the way to his mouth halted its progress as he watched her dip one nipple then the other into the cold froth.
“What do you think?” she asked, considering her breasts with the same scholarly attention given to study of the Mona Lisa. She put the bowl on the tray and cupped her breasts, bringing them together and boosting them. “Too much?”
Abby looked at Reese through her lashes and quirked one corner of her mouth. She watched the bread fly out of his hand, hitting a lampshade before spiraling to the floor. He dove on her, knocking her flat to the bed, his hot mouth on her nipples, licking and sucking off the cream. The breakfast tray tilted, dumping its contents onto the burgundy silk comforter. Silverware clanked in protest.
“You turn me on,” he muttered against her flesh, his tongue swirling around her areolas, his lips dragging across her breasts. His hand plunged between her legs, his palm coasting over her clitoris before two fingers tested her readiness.
Abby felt the length of his cock against her thigh and reached down to wrap her fingers around the solid flesh. Her thumb swiped the tip; the dew of his desire was evident.
Rubbing down his shaft, she brought her grip to the sensitive area just below the head and let her fingers dance across the bumps. His penis jerked; his moan vibrated on her skin. She grasped his cock again, stroking it as she maneuvered herself to a more suitable position. The firm, rounded flesh teased her opening. She slid her fingers over his hard-on until she reached his balls. She massaged the tightened sac, gripping lightly as he pushed slowly inside of her.
“I’ve had you all night, in almost every way, and it’s not enough,” he said, an ache in his voice.
“Take me again,” she whispered. “Take me now.”
He sheathed himself fully and paused. They both shuddered at the sensations, both gulped breaths. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed upward. His head dropped to her neck and he lightly bit her collarbone as he thrust inside, bumping deliciously against her swollen clit. Sweat slickened their bodies as they moved in frenzied harmony with each other. Pleasure blossomed quickly, a fire flower that sparked and burst.
“Reese,” she screamed, her nails biting into his hips as the orgasm overwhelmed her and blocked out everything but the bliss pulsing through her. She was mindless with it, writhing with it, and had barely begun the soft float back to Earth she felt Reese stiffen.
His cock jerked causing another riot of sensations. He rose on his elbows, his face buried against her shoulder, his groan trapped against her skin.
Reese rolled to her side and sank into the mattress, causing dishes to rattle. He sniffed her neck. “Is there cinnamon soap or shampoo in the bathroom?” he asked. “Or maybe you scrubbed with some apples or found a cider switch on the shower controls?”
Abby looked at him and laughed. “You are so weird.”
He plucked a napkin from the breakfast carnage behind him and wiped jelly off her stomach. “Looks like you’ll have to take another shower.”
“Guess so. Wanna join me?”
* * *
Abby stood in the library section of the living area, looking at all the books. It was an impressive amount of material—from literary masterpieces to the latest paperback bestsellers. After a long and enjoyable shower with Reese, she’d gotten dressed sans stockings and garter belt—those went into her purse. The silver dress was wrinkled and the black lace wrap felt itchy. She wished she could wear the soft hotel robe all the way home. The high heels on her bare feet felt too tight, and again, made her wish for the plush slippers she’d left in the bathroom.
Reese’s agent had called and he’d been in the bedroom for the last ten minutes. Should she leave him a note? A thank-you, good-bye, and mum’s-the-word reassurance penned before she left? Or should she wait and tell him in person?
“I know what’s not under that dress,” said Reese.
Abby whirled around and found him lounging against the doorway to the foyer. He looked good … oh lord above, really good … in a plain black T-shirt and raggedy blue jeans. His dark hair was wet, combed back from his face, highlighting his cheekbones, scraggly beard stubble, and those expressive, sad eyes.
“I had a great time,” she said, walking to him. “It was beyond my wildest dreams.”
“At least your sister will be happy you had hot sex with me.” He smiled, but she saw the doubt and mistrust lurking in his gaze. She knew what he was wondering. Would she rat him out to the media? Had their night of fun included a price he’d be forced to pay? Her heart ached for him and tears pricked her eyes. He had every reason to believe she’d behave like Bonnie or those rabid fans who’d managed to pilfer his blazer’s buttons.
“I have nothing to tell. You see, we had a nice dinner and I drank too much champagne. You left in your limo and I walked to Motel 6. I have a really good friend who manages that place—it’s just off Trop and Las Vegas Boulevard, not far from where we almost had dinner. She’ll swear sideways to Tuesday that I stayed the night there, too tipsy from champagne to drive home.”
His gaze remained enigmatic, but he seemed to relax—a smidge.
“Have your agent or your publicist email me a confidentiality agreement, and I’ll sign it. Please do whatever you need to feel more comfortable about what happened between us.” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a business card.
He pocketed it without looking at it. Then his hand snaked out and cupped her cheek. “You’d do that?”
“I’m selfish. The memories I have of you I want for myself and I refuse to share them with others.” She leaned in for a kiss, a mere brush of her lips against his. “You can trust me.”
They parted and Reese straightened, allowing her to pass through the doorway. She felt a hot ache in her throat, and the tears trembling on her lashes threatened to fall. The fantasy was fading away and now, she was like every other one-night-stand girl in the world—walking away from her lover, never to meet him again. Oh God. She was such a sap.
“I had a great time, too, Abby. The next time I’m in Vegas, I’ll give you a call.”
“Don’t make that promise, Reese.” She pushed the button for t
he elevator, but didn’t turn to face him. No way would she reveal her emotional state. He wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, he was a damned decent man who would probably try to make her feel better. No, she could do without that sort of kindness. Mercifully, the elevator arrived and the doors opened. She stepped inside and turned, schooling her features into cheerful.
“Good-bye, Reese.” She pulled her lips into a smile and waved, hoping she presented a happier outside than she felt inside. He stood in the foyer, watching her, and waved back. Then the doors shut … and her dream date with Reese Cadwell was officially at its end.
* * *
Rachel’s efforts to engage Ralph in conversation met with no success. She hung around the elevator, taking occasional walks around the lobby and check-in counter to see if anyone famous might arrive and do something worthy of news. No such luck. Where were Julia Roberts and George Clooney when a reporter on her last desperate assignment needed them?
At 1 a.m., Reese and his mystery woman had not come down so she went to the potty and to grab a quick bite from the 24-hour café. When she returned, she met Ralph’s replacement: Mark from California. He was a nice-looking African-American male who looked bigger, stronger, and meaner than ol’ Ralph. His main responses to her pestering were fierce smiles, but he looked so handsome, she couldn’t decide between feeling lustful or fearful. In the end, she settled for both. Unfortunately, Mark’s tolerance for her presence was far lower than Ralph’s. After her fifth attempt to get him to talk, he had her escorted out of the lobby.
Now, she loitered outside the Bellagio, hoping Reese would appear. It was almost 10 a.m. The Las Vegas sun was round and beautiful in the clear December sky. She was hungry, again, and she needed a shower.
The doors opened and Rachel looked up. If it wasn’t Reese Cadwell, she was going back to her hotel room and sacking out. The person emerging from the hotel was not Reese. The silver dress sparkled in the daylight, the black lace wrap hanging limply from slumped shoulders. Rachel grinned. The mystery woman revealed. Hah!
